


Sins, Debts, Years, and Foes

by Illusionna



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Drama & Romance, F/M, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 05:29:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 103,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3884185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illusionna/pseuds/Illusionna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The old proverb goes,<br/>"There are four things that a person<br/>has more of than he knows:<br/>sins, debts, years, and foes."</p><p>Oroku Saki's past is veiled in mystery.  We know only what little is revealed to us by his enemies.  But so much more has happened in his life, as he travels his path to fulfill his destiny.  This is a look at that path, past and present, as Oroku Saki journeys through fate as The Shredder, through his own eyes, and the eyes of those around him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Oroku Saki sat at the table, his fingertips placed together as he waited. The small table at the side of the large dining room did not suit him, but they would not be here long, and the display he was hoping for would be much more impressive if done in public.

The waiter came up to him, and filled his water glass again, not looking at him as he did so. “Are you ready to order, sir?” he asked as he slowly tipped the water pitcher upright, his eyes firmly on it.

“I will order when the lady arrives,” Oroku said, annoyed.

“Of course, sir,” the waiter bobbed and hurried off.

The Eleven Madison Park Restaurant was one of the finest in New York. After the Kraang had been sent back to Dimension X, the owners had taken little time to get it up and running again. Oroku found it plain, in the way that most American things were plain. It was decorated with cream walls, dark wood chairs, white tablecloths, large black vases with bad imitations of Japanese flower arrangements, business men and women eating their midday meals. 

He was not unaware of the looks they sent his way. He always had to ignore the glances of those around him when he was not The Shredder. They were surprised to find such a grotesque beast, burned beyond recognition, out in public, much less out in the most incomparable places in the world. He relished the unease of his business associates who tried so hard to act as if he was not disfigured, as if his face was the same, handsome man it was before the fire at the Hamato Monastery. While his presence of self had increased over the years, growing with each passing day, it did not increase his beauty any.

Where was that reprobate Hun? How hard was it to drive a limousine from the airport to the restaurant? It was probably those imbeciles, Fong, Tsoi, and Sid. Knowing them, they’d not gotten all of her luggage out of the plane and had to go back to get it.

As if the thought had manifested her, the familiar gait of three inch heels clicking against Tuscan tile grew closer with every step. Turning, he saw the maitre de leading her to his table.

He stood up as they arrived, the jacket of his Gucci silk suit falling flawlessly into place as he did. She looked the same as she had ten years ago, young and vivacious. Her dark blonde hair trailed to her shoulder blades, and seemed to change color to sandy brown as the light danced on it. It was meticulously styled, as always, demurely pinned back with two combs. She wore a black shirt and black leggings underneath a sheer lace dress that ended at her knees. From just below her knees, black fashion boots encased her calves to her toes in textured leather. At her throat, she wore the pendant that bore the emblem of the Foot Clan in black sapphires and diamonds that he had given her on her twenty first birthday. She smiled broadly as her bright blue eyes met his, and he could see she had trouble not quickening her pace to walk in front of the matire de. 

Oroku did not return the smile she beamed at him, but he did tilt his head slightly, and put out his hand.

“Saki!” she said his name with an impeccable Japanese accent as she grabbed the proffered extremity, and then let it go just as quickly, to put her arms about his neck. He returned the hug gingerly, simply putting his hands on her back, and then releasing her. “It is good to see you!” she breathed.

Oroku nodded at the maitre de, dismissing him, and then motioned to the table. “I take it your trip was pleasant,” he asked her.

She slid into the chair across from him at the little table, and nodded. “Of course it was,” she answered. “I have never known any of your surroundings to be unpleasant. Although,” she paused, “I was surprised by the...caliber...of people you have chosen to employ.”

“I had the utmost confidence that Hun would get you here safely,” he replied.

“I can see that,” she said slowly. “The other three…” she trailed off.

“Are idiots,” he finished for her.

“Yes,” she agreed. “That was the impression I got.” She looked around the restaurant, and then back to him. “You know, Saki, I have never been here before.”

“I know, Nikka,” he replied. He noticed the change in her smile when he said her name. It was hard not to see. For such a skilled geijutsuka, she had trouble hiding her emotions. “That is why we are here.”

The waiter came over, and gave a little bob to Nikka. “May I get you something to drink, madame?”

“The lady will have rose wine,” Oroku said, “I will have a Japanese rice lager.” The waiter was forced to look at him, trying to keep his face a calm mask as he looked in his good eye intently. 

“Uh, we do not have that selection, sir,” the waiter seemed to losing the color in his face. 

“Then obtain it,” Oroku said simply.

The waiter nodded and scurried off.

“You let him off easy,” Nikka noted.

“We’ll see what he manages to produce,” he said. She giggled, and opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off, “Now what is so important that you had to see me right away?”

The smile disappeared from her face, and she became much more serious. “Some men came to my children’s school and asked them about their mommy’s friend, Mr. Oroku.” She said his name with an awful accent, totally Americanized. “And that, apparently, is how they said it.”

“Hnnnn,” he let out an annoyed grunt. He forgot, sometimes, about time passing for her. He tended to think of her as a girl, of which she looked not much more than one. But now, so many years later, she was married with children of her own.

“This isn’t funny, Saki,” Nikka leaned forward, her big, blue eyes wide.

“What did they say?” he asked.

“What is a 4 year old and 2 year old going to say?” The waiter came with the wine, and with a bottle of beer and a frosted glass. “Thank you,” she said to him, “oh, could you bring us an appetizer. Whatever you think is the best on the menu,” and waved him away, obviously doing it before Oroku could say anything. “They had no idea what they were talking about.”

He nodded, his face impassive.

She stared at him for a few moments, none of the fear that others had at his disfigurement in her eyes. He had to admit, that disappeared a long time ago. “Are you in trouble, Saki?” she asked slowly. 

“Hardly,” he said, looking to the side, and standing up. He smiled, one of the few smiles he had, an anticipatory one. The entertainment was about to begin.

She followed his lead, both with his eyes and with his stance, as a heavy set man, with plain brown hair, balding on top, and a black briefcase came toward them.

He had his hand out before he reached the two of them, “Mr. Oroku,” he said. He had sweat on his temples, and his hand was clammy.

“This,” Oroku gestured toward the man, his eyes going to Nikka , “is my business associate Mr. Hammond.” He looked at the aforementioned Mr. Hammond, and took Nikka by the arm, and gently moved her closer to his side of the table. “This is Ms. Veronika Heathcock.”

Nikka took Mr. Hammond’s meaty hand and shook it, a sweet smile on her face. The vivaciousness of a moment before was gone, the woman radiated calm and assurance. She looked him straight in the eye, unabashedly, and held onto his hand a moment longer than she needed to. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hammond.” He looked at her and blinked confusedly. “If I had known this was a business luncheon,” she glanced at Oroku, “then I would have made my leave already. I do not usually mix business with pleasure.”

Mr. Hammond nodded politely, and looked to Oroku, and then back to Nikka . Once she was seated next to the imposing Japanese business man, Mr. Hammond sat himself down across from them. “I,” he cleared his throat, “I am not sure I should be here, Mr. Oroku,” he said.

“I wanted to talk,” Oroku said, “without our lawyers present.”

Hammond cleared his throat again, and glanced at Nikka, and then back to Oroku.

“My offer still stands,” Oroku went on. “Sell willingly, and you will retain 25% of the company.”

A bead of sweat trailed down Hammond’s temple to his jawline. “25% is not enough,” he said, trying to make his voice exude confidence and failing miserably. 

“25% is more than generous,” Oroku’s voice was lethal.

“How much of the company do you want to retain, Mr. Hammond?” Nikka leaned in, resting her arms on the table, her eyes intently on the other businessman. Oroku watched in silence, and took the first drink from his beer..

Hammond cleared his throat again, “I want 50% of the company,” he said. “I have worked my whole life to build this company, I deserve to keep half ownership of my stock.”

“I imagine you have worked hard to build your company,” she said, nodding her head. She reached over the table and took her glass of rose wine, and sipped. 

The waiter reappeared with the tray of appetizers, an array of different things. He turned to Mr. Hammond, “What will you be having?”

Oroku, Nikka, and the waiter looked at the sweaty businessman. “Um, I’ll have a Heineken.” He turned his attention back to the other side of the table, glancing from Oroku to Nikka nervously. “I deserve half of my company,” he said again.

Nikka reached over and took one of the delicacies on the plate. “Oh, Saki,” she turned to him, and clucked her tongue sympathetically before popping the bit in her mouth. “Give the man half of his company.” 

Oroku shook his head and swallowed his beer. “30%,” he said.

“That’s not fair,” she argued, her voice smooth, sweet, and genuine. “The man built his business from the ground up.”

“So did I,” Oroku said.

“Give the man…” she looked at Hammond. He was looking back and forth between the two of them as if they were crazy and he was about to be murdered with a butcher knife. “Give him 49%,” she said. 

“35%,” he said, as if Mr. Hammond was not even present.

“40%,” Nikka countered, turning to Hammond and smiling brightly. She nodded, as if they were winning at a bridge game. “Give him that.”

Oroku looked from Nikka to Hammond, his face thoughtful and ruthless. “40%,” he said in his low voice.   
Hammond opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water.

Nikka reached over and put her hand gently on his arm. Leaning as much as the table would allow without her looking as if she were reaching, she said quietly, “You will be richer with 40% of your company under Oroku Industries than if you had 100% of your company today.” She nodded sagely. “I invested with Saki’s company when it was just little,” she held her hand up and made a tiny space in-between her fingers. “And I have been able to pursue my dreams because of him.”

Hammond managed to stopped imitating a catfish, and asked, “Dreams?” in a tremulous voice.

“I am an orchestra musician,” she whispered, as if telling a secret. “They don’t make much money.”

He nodded, as if he knew exactly how much orchestra musicians made. 

Oroku drew out a document from under the table. “40%,” he said. “I am being generous, Mr. Hammond.”

The man looked from Oroku to Nikka again. He nodded, “Yes,” he said, blinking slowly. “40% is very generous.” He took the document and signed his name at the bottom. He slid it back to Oroku, looking slightly confused.

“We must get going, Mr. Hammond,” Oroku slid out of his chair with the utmost grace, and offered his hand to Nikka, which she took and stood up. “Ms. Heathcock has just arrived in New York, and I am sure she is tired.”

She nodded demurely, and then turned to Mr. Hammond. Rummaging through her purse, she said, “I don’t know very many people in New York City, Mr. Hammond.” She handed him a calling card. “Perhaps we can have a business trip to the orchestra here.” He took the card, and looked at it, nodding slowly. She then turned, walking in front of Oroku, toward the exit.

Once the two of them had reached the stairs, she said quietly, “You didn’t need me to do that.” 

“40% was more than I was expecting,” he replied.

“Oh, you don’t even need his company,” she said. The doorman held the door open for them, and the limousine was already pulled up in front of the building. The doorman ran ahead of them to get the door to the car. “You can give him 40%.”

“Hnnn,” Oroku gave another non-committal grunt. He slid into the limo after her, and the doorman closed the door. He was always slightly amused by watching her perform The Art on someone. He liked the look on the person’s face, the confusion and the willingness. When given enough time, the confusion was no longer present, only an intense compliancy to please. Of course, Hammond was a weak willed idiot, an easy mark, and hardly worth performing for.

“Saki,” she said, reaching out and touching his arm, “this business with my kids is serious.”

He moved his arm so that she was no longer touching him. He noticed her lips purse in annoyance, and then a pleading look came to her eyes. 

“Saki, I understand that you’re part of the Yakuza or whatever,” she waved her hand in the air dismissively, “but you understand that the rules are different in the States than in Japan, right?”

He gave her a withering look. The Yakuza, that is what she thought? He could be the entire Yakuza if he wished, having every crime syndicate under his thumb. His look became thoughtful.

“Are you in some kind of trouble?” her voice was worried.

He debated a moment with himself, and then he reached over to the glass that separated the passenger from the driver, and gave it two taps. Two taps were returned. “How is Miyabi-shishou?” he asked.

Nikka let out a long breath, obviously coming to terms with the fact that he would reveal what he wanted to reveal in his own time. “She’s fine,” she shook her head, as if she were contradicting herself. “I think she’s fine,” she amended. “You know how she is.”

“I would imagine she’d tell you if she was not fine,” he said, glancing out the window behind her.

She turned her head to see what he was looking at, and then back to his face. “I would imagine,” she conceded. “How is Karai? I was hoping you’d bring her to lunch, too.”

His eyes went to the window again, he watched the familiar buildings whiz by as the limo twisted down the streets of New York City. He had deliberated for years on how much to tell her. He had erred on the side of secrecy, the less she knew, the better, but it was simply easier now to be truthful than to come up with an outright lie. If her children were being involved in his affairs in some way, she would be too. He had an enemy trying to get to him, he had to find out who it was. Someone who was going about getting to him in a very roundabout way. She was finally involved, after all these years. A part of him was surprised it had taken so long for someone to think to get at him through her.

She was a powerful personal ally, and she could be an even more powerful business ally. More than that, she could be one of his most powerful underground allies. While her world was floors above those currently in his employ, she was no less savvy or useful in her arena. It was not a waste that she was now drawn into his machinations. It was a stroke of serendipity, perhaps, that his ancestors were smiling upon him, as each day he came closer and closer to fulfilling his destiny. 

“There is something I need to show you,” he said slowly, his eyes still on the window.

“What?” she asked, just as slowly. “What’s the matter?”

“When you see it, then you will understand.”

The limo came to a stop, and the door on Nikka's side opened. Oroku watched her closely as she stepped out and craned her head back to look at the building, with its vaulted roofs and stained glass windows, the clock stopped at seven o’clock for eternity. The mortar in-between the brick of the many stories crumbled in some spots“Saki,” she drawled, fear in her voice, “what is this place?”

“This is my base of operations,” he said matter-of-factly, walking past her toward the door. 

"This is an old church," she said, following behind him, "with the cross removed." 

He didn't answer her as the doors opened, and he walked through them into the entry. He felt her grow more nervous as they passed the guards, anonymous in their Foot Clan ninja attire, even their eyes covered with screens. He led her through the hallways and up the stairs, both of their shoes, his loafers and her heels, clicking on the hardwood floor. 

She gave an audible gasp when they entered the throne room. Oroku Saki felt the warmth of satisfaction spread through his chest and his cheeks. Nikka, like her shishou before her, was difficult to impress. He had every right to be smug that he had managed to get a breath of awe out of her.

At the front of the room, next to the large throne at the top of the dias, was his armor, set up upon its frame, looking much like a headless sentinel. On the seat of the throne, sitting as if he left it like a child leaves a toy to go play, was the Kuro Kabuto.

He turned to look at her, her face filled with uncertainty. She turned her head to the side, and gave him a suspicious look. “You’re not with the Yakuza, are you?”


	2. Chapter 2

Veronika sat in the room she’d been given as her own, “To freshen up,” before dinner, while Saki had “business to take care of,” and drank the rum and Coke the fish-man...good gods, she had to remember these people’s names, had gotten her. She was still in too much shock to remember anyone’s name. The only ones she could remember were Karai and Chris, but that was only because she knew them from before. It was too much to take in...aliens, and mutant human-animals, and other dimensions, and retro-mutagen. 

It was like out of a bad horror movie.

Before he had come to NYC, Saki had told her he had discovered that Hamato Yoshi was still alive. He had told her before he’d told Shishou Miyabi. She felt a guilty sense of pride in that. She had meant to get to here before now, long before now, but when she was available to come, he was in Japan. Then, the alien invasion had happened. 

Aliens? Who knew there was such a thing as freaking aliens?!

And now, there were no aliens. They had all been banished to their own dimension. Not gone back in their mothership to their homeworld, been banished to their own dimension.

It was all like out of a bad horror movie.

She took out her cell phone for the promised call, to distract herself. “Hello!” she sang to the two little faces that shone back at her from the screen. “Did you have a good day at school?”

A little boy, obviously a preschooler, smiled widely back at her. He had light blonde hair, as she did when she was very little, and his smile mirrored his mothers. “We learned about frogs,” he said. “We looked for some, but we didn’t find any.”

“Mommy on plane?” a little girl, a toddler, pushed the boy out of the way. She was obviously related to him, her own hair pale blonde, her bright blue eyes the same as his, and her smile just like her mother’s.

“No,” Nikka answered. “Mommy is in New York City.”

“Mommy with Daddy?” the little girl looked confused. 

Nikka mimicked her confusion, she thought the child had understood. “No, honey. Daddy is on a different business trip. Mommy is at Mr. Oroku’s house.” A house? she thought derisively. This is one doozy of a house.

“Why couldn’t we come?” the boy’s voice drifted through the phone.

“I told you, you wouldn’t have had any fun.”

“You’ll be home for my birthday, right? It’s only six days away!!” the little boy’s voice, and part of his face, came through the phone.

“I am only going to be here for a few days,” she assured him. “Of course I will be home for your birthday. You are going to be such a big boy! Four years old! I will bring you a fabulous gift back from the big city!”

“Mr. Kookoo gift?” the girl asked. 

Nikka tried not to laugh, “Mr. Oroku always gives you wonderful gifts, doesn’t he?”

The girl nodded her head, her straight blonde hair bouncing vigorously. 

“Oh,” the little boy managed to poke his whole head in the picture, “Baba-sama called.”

“What?” she shook her head, her amusement. Why in the world would Miyabi-shishou call? The old woman had been worrying her lately. She wasn’t showing any signs of any illness, just of being...old. Nikka didn’t like that. There was nothing she could do about it. “Greta, stop pushing, please.” She turned her attention back to her son, “Ashton, Are you sure it was her? It wasn’t someone else pretending to be her?” 

He nodded vigorously, “It was her.”

A woman’s face appeared on the screen, “She said it wasn’t an emergency. She told us to tell you to call her back when you liked.”

Relief flooded through her, and she closed her eyes.

“Are you alright, Mrs. Eustace?” she asked.

“I’m fine, Jennifer,” she said to the children’s nanny. “The trip has been...harrowing.” 

If she’d known this was what was going to greet her when she came to talk to Saki, she might have just called him on the phone.

But she couldn’t let it pass. She could let a lot of things pass. But when men in CIA looking suits came to talk to her children while they were in school, that, she could not let pass.

“I have to go,” she told them, “but I will call you tomorrow.”

Both little ones waved to the phone, and then the screen went dark.

She took another sip of her rum and Coke.

She should have known something was up when Saki offered to have his plane pick her up, instead of her flying commercially. She’d never seen the use of keeping a private plane herself, it wasn’t as if you got to where you were going any faster. You still had to do all of the security rigamor, especially coming into NYC. Why keep a plane, and insurance, and a pilot on the books, when it was so much easier just to buy a first class ticket and get on the plane with everyone else? While the ride had been beyond luxurious, it was lonely. On a commercial flight, she got to turn to the person next to her and talk to them, even though they did not want to talk to her, and then have them begging for her contact information when they arrived at their destination. 

She’d been greeted by a good looking Asian man, his black shirt slightly open to reveal his tattooed chest, and immediately noting he was suave, and thought himself to be so. Behind him were three...not so good looking Asian men, all of them having a sort of lackey feeling about them. The three of them scurried to the plane, presumably to get her luggage, while the man in the black shirt introduced himself as Hun.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hun,” she said.

“Just Hun,” he corrected, opening the door to the limo, and then closing it behind her.

Saki was putting some rather dubious people under his employ, that was for sure.

They’d gotten to the restaurant without incident, and he’d been waiting at the table for her to arrive. Usually it was the other way around, and excitement bubbled up in her at the sight of him. It always did, so much so that she had trouble containing it. Shishou had told her once it was unbecoming, but Saki had never told her so. In fact, she’d seen him crack a tiny smile, the only kind he ever smiled, every once in a while when he saw her. He’d looked so smart in his Gucci silk suit, and his stern expression. She wanted to laugh out at all the patrons in the restaurant who were staring at them, staring at him, “He is 1000 times the man any of you will ever dream of being.” They dared to stare at him because he was burned, because he done a brave thing and saved his daughter from the Hamato Monastery fire, something that none of the people in that restaurant, none of the people who ever stared at him, would ever be asked to do. And Saki did it willingly.

Oh, but the man was still as poor a negotiator as ever. Brute force, that was always what he went for first, when a careful tongue always worked better. For the gods’ sake, Mr. Hammond hadn’t taken any effort at all to convince. It was like dealing with an adolescent boy.

Then they’d ridden the limo to this crazy place, and the horror movie had began.

She recognized the Kuro Kabuto sitting on what looked like a throne on a dais in front of a huge window. At least, she surmised that what it was, she’d never seen it, but what other samurai looking helmet would it be? She had heard the legend of it, from her own shishou, and from Saki himself. The ancient symbol of his clan, the physical representation of who Oroku Saki had become. She was not one for such associations, she found them amusing, but she was not unaware of how vitally important they were to those who surrounded her as she came into adulthood. That is sat on a throne, alone, looking out into an empty room at the two of them unnerved her slightly.

The armor next to the throne, that had taken her aback. Well, to be honest, the entire room had taken her aback. The floor was a huge fish tank, complete with fish, which she noticed after a few minutes were piranha. He had walked toward the throne, and turned around to look at her when they reached the suit of armor. It had dawned on her then. He was not part of the Japanese mafia. He was part of something else entirely.

He had not answered her question, before she heard from the shadows to her right, “Greetings, Mistress Veronika.” She thought the room was empty, it certainly felt empty, but she recognized the voice.

“That’s an awful cold you must be getting over, Mr. Bradford,” she said slowly, her tone more casual than she felt. She wasn’t able to say another word, her breath, her voice, her most powerful weapon, was taken from her as if by a physical blow.

The thing that came out of the shadows was a monster from a nightmare. It was huge, a skeletal thing, with bits of fur hanging off of it as if it were a decomposing dog. The aura it gave off was terrifying. She backed up to escape from the thing, and had walking to Saki. She twisted her head, and saw that his face was passive, unimpressed with the zombie like thing in front of him. She turned back to it, “Chris?” she asked.

The thing bowed to her, “Yes, Mistress,” it said in a voice that was decomposed as much as the body. The once handsome man, who could make any woman swoon with only a smile, was now...this thing.

“Saki,” the word came out strangled, and she turned to face him. To his left stood another monster, a great tiger man, whom she hadn’t detected either. How many of these things were in the room? She had to work to take a breath in, she wanted to scream and run, but there was nowhere for her to go. “I don’t understand.”

“The Kraang,” he said calmly, “had a substance that mutated people into these,” he gestured around him. Several more of the things had come out of the shadows, and the room was slowly brightening, though the light still dim, each a different animal.

“Greetings to you, Mistress Veronika,” said a fish with robotic legs. He put his thin arms out in a gesture of welcome, and in an accented voice, was it South American? In an ingratiating voice, he said, “Would you like a refreshment? A drink perhaps?”

She stared at the creature, blinking, trying to take him in. He had tanks where his gills would be, did he need them to breath? Did he have gills? Was the fish tank in the room for him? He had no legs, and he was grotesque in the odd form of his body. His head was huge, and his tail tapered into a little thing behind him. She shook her head, “No, thank you,” she replied, “I am fine.”

“This is Xever,” Saki had told her, and then introduced the other monstrosities around her, “Tiger Claw, Ivan Steranko, and Anton Zeck.” He gestured to the decomposing dog. “You already know Bradford.” She nodded to each of them in turn, completely at a loss as to how one was to act politely among mutated animal people. 

As he was speaking, Saki had shrugged off his jacket, and taken off his tie. He unbuttoned the silk shirt he was wear, and Nikka fought to find something to say. He was undressing, in this throne room, in front of all these...monsters. Underneath the shirt he had a form fitting black top, sleeveless, to reveal off of his arm. He then let the silk trousers drop, to reveal a tight black body-type suit underneath. She opened her mouth again to say something, but nothing came out, as he held out his arms, and Bradford began to put the armor on him. 

She went through the names of these people in her mind, as she watched the transformed Bradford strap Saki’s chest plate and leg guards, and hold out gauntlets for him to slip his arms into. There was no way she was going to remember any of them, she was too flustered. 

A feeling of dread overtook her. For a moment, she saw spots at the edge of her vision, dancing around Saki as he was transformed from a businessman into a some sort of sci-fi samurai. In the list of names, one she was expecting to hear was missing. “Where is Karai, Saki?” She knew her voice sounded awful, it sounded afraid, reflecting the dread she felt.

He had given her one of his looks, the one that said, “I do not want to answer your question, it is beneath me to answer it, but I will tell you anyway.” She hated it when he gave her that look, it made her feel young and helpless and at his mercy. He put the Kuro Kabuto on his head, and it slowly swallowed his disfigured face, leaving only his two eyes, more terrifying that than his entire visage, shining out from it. 

“Follow me,” he instructed.

She did so, her heels clicking as she walked, his feet now utter silent in his boots. How did he do that, she wondered. The things were big and bulky, what kind of effort did one have to put into one’s feet to keep them silent while wearing those things? They went back down the stairs, all of the others...mutants, was that they were called, with them. 

With each step they took, her feeling of alarm increased. Where was Oroku Karai? Why hadn’t she emerged yet, and why were they going to her? Something was wrong, horribly wrong. She should be coming to them, she was a youth, a subordinate to both of them. It had been a while since she’d seen her. The last time was in Japan, shortly after her wedding, four years ago? The transformation between the 11 year old bridesmaid of her wedding and the now 12 year old Karai had been surprising. She was rebelling by entering a punk rocker-type stage. Nikka had thought that out of style, but apparently being in the orchestra world did not make her so privy as to pop culture as she would have liked to believed. She had found it very amusing, especially the contrast with Saki, in his silk suits and ties. With her sternly imposing Japanese father, Nikka imagined there were few ways in the which the girl could get away with teenage rebellion. While she knew Saki was beyond indulgent with her, the girl got practically whatever she asked for, she also knew he was very strict. That he let her choose her own clothing alone was quite a statement of his indulgence. She remembered it had not always been that way. Nikka had wished that the rebellion was a prettier one, however. Karai was a beautiful girl, and she marred herself in a scary way with her style.

Miyabi-shishou had reminded Nikka of her own similar phase, which had driven the old woman crazy. Grunge, she’d chosen, the exact opposite of a sophisticated geijutsuka. Shishou had actually put her in a formal kimono for two days because she “...couldn’t take it anymore!” She’d shared that story with Karai, exchanging girlish secrets, with smiles and giggles.

The girl was sixteen now, and when Nikka spoke to her over the vidphone, there were few giggles or smiles any longer. She tried to coax them out of the girl, but girlish secrets were no longer enough to do so. She occasionally was able to, though. She’d managed to get out of Karai that she was fond of a boy, but she hadn’t been able to elicit his name. With their last few conversations, Karai had taken the sombre attitude of her father, asking many questions about Saki when he was younger, asking questions about her mother, and her own childhood. Nikka had the answer to some, and not others.

The church was deceptively large, much larger than it looked from the street. She realized they were going down past the ground level, and she wondered how many levels the building actually had. They emerged at what looked like a giant private terrarium. Stories of walls were covered in glass cages, some with water, some without, all of them decked out as if to hold some giant pet. 

Some of them did hold creatures. All kinds of creatures. Creatures she couldn’t recognize. As they walked past, she saw things that thought might be crabs, but she wasn’t sure. They stopped in front of one of the glass enclosures that held a white and purple snake-like thing. It was grotesque, just like the other mutants she’d seen. Its hands were miniature copies of its head, and its head was an elongated, gross thing atop a caricature of a human torso.

Saki said nothing, he only stared at the creatures on the other side of the glass.

She understood. LIke a lightening bolt come through the ceiling to the top of her head. She gasped, and put her hands on the glass. “Oh my god,” she whispered, her blue eyes wide, a look of horror on her face. The snake darted at the glass, hissing loudly, and banged into with a thunk. She jumped away, taking her hands off of it, the look of horror turning to fear.

It couldn’t be. This could not be the girl she’d seen grow from a toddler to a young woman. This could not be girl, that not even a year before, she had been scouring Paris for an appropriate sweet 16 gift, one that would rival what Saki had given to her twenty years ago. She had wracked her brain for an idea, it is difficult to buy someone something when they have access to anything they want. She discovered that Saki had gotten her a motorcycle, so Nikka bought her a beautiful, rocker style leather jacket, with a silk lining, and silver studs and matching boots. “To be safe while you drive,” she’d told the girl. She’d also given her a set of hematite earrings, to adorn her many holes she’d punctured herself with. Nikka had been thrilled, each time she spoke to Karai after her birthday, the earrings were in her ears, a testament to Nikka’s picking the right thing for her.

But there were no leather jackets or hematite earrings now. Only a beast where a girl had once stood. Tears came to Nikka’s eyes, and her throat constricted, no, she had to be mistaken. She’d misinterpreted Saki’s silence.

“Hamato Yoshi did this,” Saki said with venom in his voice.

“But,” she turned to him, looking him in his eyes, the only thing that showed on his face, “I thought the aliens had the substance that changed people into mutants,” she said. “How could he have done this?”

“Because of him,” he said, his eyes still on the serpent in the glass, “one of his disciples caused her to fall in a vat of mutagen.”

“Disciples?” she said softly. “I didn’t know he had disciples. You said he was hiding.”

“He is,” Saki turned his gaze to her, his eyes hard. “In the sewer.”

She made a disgusted face. “In the sewer? Why in the world would he be in the sewer?”

“Because he is a rat.”

For a brief moment, she thought he was simply insulting him. He deserved to be called a rat. His entire clan were liars, deceivers, thieves. But she realized he meant it literally. “A rat?”

“And his disciples are turtles,” Bradford said.

She blinked, utterly speechless.

From behind them, she heard a buzzing, and turning around, a great fly man hovered at the edge of the walkway. It looked like it came directly out of the movie, The Fly. She took a deep breath in, and tried to school her face from the fear and disgust she knew was on it. She also knew it wasn’t working.

“This is Baxter Stockman,” Saki began to walk away, out of the great room. “He is working on a retro-mutagen to change Karai back.”

She didn’t comment on it, only looked at the serpent a moment longer, wanting with all of her heart for this to be a cruel joke, or a nightmare she was having on the plane. Then followed the others behind Saki. She quickened her steps, she would not be last in this little entourage or any other. She came up beside Saki, her legs having to pump in her heels to keep up with him. 

She turned as she walked, and looked at the fish mutant, “I think I would like that drink now.”

# 

Xever returned from having delivered the rum and Coke to Mistress Veronika’s room, and with a curious face, he asked Bradford, “What, exactly, his Mistress Veronika a mistress of?”

“She is a geijutsuka,” he answered in his gravelly voice.

“An actress?” Tiger Claw asked, in between licking his cup of milk. If Xever was fetching drinks, he might as well fix him one too.

“A practitioner of geijutsu,” Bradford went on. “Not an actress.”

“What is...geijutsu,” Xever asked. 

“It means The Art,” Bradford told him. “I don’t know if it has another name or not. It is ancient, and rare nowadays. There only a few who are truly masters at it. She’s one of them,” he motioned to the door with his head. “I’d listen very carefully to what she says to you, if I were you.”

Tiger Claw laughed, “Ahhh,” he said, “I understand now. It only works on weak-willed fools.”

“We’ll see how strong-willed you are when she hypnotizes you,” Bradford said sulkily. 

“I take it she has done it you,” Xever said smugly, a grin on his face.

“She does it to everybody. It’s what she does.”

“She does it to Master Shredder?” the fish asked.

Bradford laughed, “No,” he said. “I’ve never seen her do it with Master Shredder.” He looked toward the door again, as if his sensei might be listening. “They have worked together a lot. I doubt she could hypnotize him.”

“They are...close?” Xever paused, choosing his words carefully.

“There are rumors,” Bradford said very quietly. “I don’t know if they are true or not. I know they are friends, and have been for a very long time.”

“I wouldn’t think Master Shredder had any friends,” Xever mused.

Bradford gave him a disgusted look. “Everyone has friends,” he said. “Some just more than others.”


	3. Chapter 3

The Shredder looked up from his seat as the door opened, and Mistress Veronika entered.  She’d ‘freshened up’ accordingly, wearing the pink tinged gold mandarin dress he had sent to her rooms. He had wondered if she would refuse to wear it, and what he would choose for his reaction to be if she did not.  Obviously, he needn’t have bothered. She looked good in the style, she was tall and willowy, and motherhood had broadened her hips into a pleasurable shape, giving the illusion of a cinched waist.  The color of the dress brought out the brown in her hair, as opposed to the blonde, and made her blue eyes pop.    He leaned back and looked her up and down.

 

She did the same to him.  He was still wearing his armor, muscled arms bared, his helmet nowhere in to be seen.  The familiar scarring of his face held a mild expression, as if he had been thinking. He was an imposing sight, even sitting back lounging.  He always had a flair for the dramatic, she mused.  He was obviously in the mood to impress.

 

Before arriving, a knock had brought Nikka out of her thoughts as she rummaged through her luggage for a suitable change of clothes in her room, and upon opening the door, a young woman stood holding up a dress bag.  “Master Shredder insists you wear this for dinner,” she said unenthusiastically.

 

She had reached out to take the garment bag, sighing heavily.  He would do something like this, wouldn’t he?  The man was spoiled rotten.  “Thank you,” she had said.

 

The woman had moved away lithely, still holding the bag.  “I am to help you with whatever it is that you need,” she had said.  

 

He’d sent her a servant?  That, she had not expected.  But then, the woman would only be serving her for three days, wouldn’t she?  That would not take much out of his business arrangements, whatever they might be.

 

Nikka turned around to enter the room again, motioning for the young woman to follow her.  “And what did you do to get demoted from ninja to handmaiden?” she asked.

 

The young woman tightened her lips and didn’t answer.

 

Nikka smiled smugly, having hit a nerve.  “Let me see,” she squinted her eyes, and scrutinized the woman.  “You...did not follow orders the way you were supposed to.”

 

The woman gave no indication that she was rattled.

 

"You are habitually late," she guessed. 

 

Again the woman looked at her stoically. 

 

“You tried to use sex to get ahead,” Nikka had surmised smoothly.

 

The woman flinched.  It was fleeting, so fleeting that one might not have noticed it, but Nikka did.  She waved her hand dismissively.  “Don’t you know sex is for amateurs?” she asked, not expecting a reply.  “You never mix work and pleasure, my dear.”  She waggled her finger at the woman sagely.  “That is the first rule any woman should live by in a man’s world.”

 

The young woman laid the garment bag on the bed, and unzipped it, to reveal a beautiful, silk dress, meant to be form fitting, with a mandarin collar and little cap sleeves.  “Did Master Shredder hand pick you?” Nikka asked.

 

“No," said the young woman.

 

It was enough to give her a handmaid, but not enough to pick her himself.  “Who picked you?”

 

“Sensei Bradford,” she replied.

 

Well, at least his prime pupil picked her.   “I see your sensei wanted you to learn a few things, then,” she had said, reaching out to touch the dress on the bed.  She then looked into the woman’s face, her own sweet and assuring.  “I will begin your education now,” she leaned in, tilting her head to side, almost as if she were going in to kiss her.  “First, you will bow when you enter the room.  Second, you will address me as Mistress.   Third, you will change your attitude, or I shall permanently change it for you.”

 

The young woman blinked, and took a slow breath in.

 

“What shall I call you, then, girl?” Nikka asked.  The woman could not have been that much younger than she, but it was obvious she had a great deal to learn about the world around her.

 

“Miko, Mistress,” she said.

 

“Very well then, Miko,” she had waved her hand toward the door.  “Go find something to put my hair up with.  I doubt that Master Shredder wants me to wear this only to have my hair hanging in my face.”

 

Miko had done so, pulling her hair up and securing it with two combs.  Nikka suspected the jewels in the combs were rhinestones and not gems.  She’d have to make sure to fix that. 

 

The Shredder seemed to be satisfied with the ensemble, however, as he regarded her and said nothing.

 

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, coming farther into the sitting room of his suite.

 

“Business,” he replied.

 

“Which one?” she gestured to his armor.

 

“Both,” he stood up, and motioned for her to go through a hallway.  He walked a tiny bit ahead of her as they traversed it, to come into his small, private dining room.  A middle aged Asian man stood at the far end of the room, and clapped his hands upon their entrance.

 

A bevy of people appeared, as if out of nowhere, and began to set the table.  The Shredder held his arms out, as he had in the throne room, and three of the people began to take his armor off.  Once it was, and he was only in his black practice suit, she slipped off her shoes, and the two of them sank down to the table.

 

“I am almost in entire control of this city,” he told her. 

 

“Above ground or under it?” she asked, her voice impassive.

 

“They are the same thing,” he replied.  He put his hands together, and she did the same as they both said, “ Itadakimasu ,” in front of the food.  “Whoever controls the ground, controls the sky.”  As if the grace had been a magic word, he switched to speaking Japanese, and felt the flush in his chest of satisfaction at her annoyed expression.

 

While her accent and vocabulary had improved tremendously since her youth, she still seemed to hold it against him that he would speak to her in his native language.  He had begun it when they first met, and the little American spoke only baby Japanese, a pathetic rendition of pleases and thank yous.  Shishou Miyabi spoke to the girl in English, she wanted to make sure that all of her information was understood impeccably, but he had been under no restrictions while in her house. If she was staying in Japan, she needed to learn to speak the language.  If she spoke the language, then she needed to do it well.  He had insisted on both.  He had done it in retaliation for being stuck with her, a little bundle of Americanism playing at being a great  geijutsuka .  She wasn’t even a little  geijutsuka  back then.  She was only a spirited, charming girl, sent to attempt to cheer him up from his black cloud.    As if she could compare to what had brought such colourlessness upon him.  Miyabi had been a fool.

 

Or so he had thought at first.  It was not until much later when he realized what it was Shishou Miyabi had been doing.   He needed allies to fulfill his destiny, to bring his vision to fruition.  He had been too distraught back then to see that.  Gathering his wits at her estate, her house having been an ally of the Foot Clan for centuries, nursing his anger and hatred, she had told him of his true heritage, everything that she knew.  And she had sent this woman who sat before him now to be his ally in that heritage, to fulfil Miyabi’s destiny as well, when it looked like her house and her Art would die out.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me about all of this sooner?” she asked gently, looking him in the eyes.  She always looked him in the eye, had done so from the very beginning of their acquaintance, both before and after the fire.  The only other person who did so was Karai...had been Karai.  He had to let the thought slide off of his consciousness, there was nothing gained by dwelling on it now, nothing gained by harnessing the anger in it at the moment.  With all of the recent upheaval with his daughter, he had momentarily forgotten what it was like to be looked at, genuinely, in the eyes.  He had forgotten how he felt about it.

 

“There was no reason for you to know,” he answered.

 

She obviously did not like that answer, she pursed her lips, and then took a deep breath.  “I could have come sooner,” she told him.

 

“And done what?” his voice was harsh.  

 

She looked at him, and didn’t answer.

 

The man was insufferable sometimes.  She had always had a difficult time reading him, knowing when to offer him comfort, and knowing when to play along with an angry game, and knowing when to simply back away and concede defeat.   He was totally immune to her Art, the few times she’d tried it as a shishou herself, he had had no reaction whatsoever.  

 

She liked it that way.  There was a sense of security knowing that he was immune to her charms, that she could not fall into a false persona with him, that she must remain honestly herself.  She liked the real her, and she was sure he did too.  Why else would he have kept in such close contact with her for all these years?  She had been useless to him for so many of them, unable to do anything to repay his kindnesses to her, other than offer comfort in the normal, everyday way.  She had been so young when they met, she was often surprised when she thought about it that she was able to comfort him as much as she had. 

 

“Is all of this why those men came to interrogate my children?” she asked, after a moment of silence.  “Is the government onto you?”

 

He shook his head, “No, I don’t believe so.”

 

It was obvious by the look on her face that she did not like that answer either.  “Are my children in danger, Saki?” her voice held an edge of fear, laced with anger in it.

 

“No,” he said, considering.  "Your children are not in any danger."   It was not a lie.   If whomever had approached Nikka's children wanted to hurt them, they would have done so already.   It did not mean that they would not be targeted later,  but for the time being, their safety was relatively secure. 

 

His deep voice held no doubt, and she felt some of the fear subside.  If he said they were not in danger, she believed him.  She did not know how they would be safe, if they were in danger, and did not particularly have the desire to know.  She nodded, acknowledging his answer, the annoyance on her face smoothing out.

 

The conversation moved to details of stories he had told her that he had been unable to divulge before now.   He told her of his encounters with Hamato Yoshi, of his gathering of the crime syndicates in the city under his control.  He gave her the details as he would in a military report, with no feeling, save the hatred or disdain he felt for those around him.  They finished their dinner, and the bevy of people appeared once again, clearing the table as they got up, and then disappearing once more, leaving only the middle aged man.  

 

They’d made their way back into the front sitting room, the serving man filling their wine cups as they were emptied.  He had forgotten, he usually did in between seeing her, how easy she was to talk to.  She cared about what he had to say, not because she could gain anything by it, but because she cared what he thought.  All she could do with the information would be to sell it, but then she’d be shooting herself in the foot.  Her own wealth originally came  from him, even if she could maintain it on her own now.  While Oroku Saki was now in a position to survive without Asakami Miyabi, the great  geijutsuka  was not in a position to survive without him.  And her prize pupil, who smiled at him now, knew this.  Nikka had never shown anything but the utmost loyalty to her Mistress.  Perhaps knowing this, that she was trapped in a way that kept her close, or perhaps knowing that she lay in the trap willingly, made it easier to unburden his thoughts on her. 

 

Nikka noticed that as he drank more of the exquisite rice wine, the more he told her of his actual thoughts and opinions.  She smiled genuinely as his voice became more relaxed.  He hadn’t changed much since she’d seen him last.  But then, she hadn’t expected him to.  Her eyes moved across his body, a warm relaxation having taken over her.  While his face was disfigured from his third degree burns, his body was beautiful.  She knew he had burns on his neck, and on his back where his hairline had caught flames.  His bare arms, shining in the low light of room, were smooth and muscled.  The black form fitting suit he wore under his armor left little to the imagination, the contours of his body highlighted by the dark, silk fabric.  When she looked into his one good eye, the one that looked back at her, she saw the eye that once looked out of a beautiful face at her Shishou’s estate in her girlhood.

 

“Still,” Saki said, his voice seething, “still Hamato Yoshi plagues me!”  He glared at Nikka over the little side table that sat in between their two chairs.  “He is turned into the flea-infested vermin that he is in his heart, and still, he ruins my life!”

 

“No, Saki,” Nikka put her little cup down, and reached her hand over to lay it on his thigh.  “He does not ruin your life, you cannot let yourself think that way.” 

 

He stood up suddenly, his eyes ablaze, his mouth twisted in anger.   He opened his mouth to speak, his utter disdain clear upon his face.

 

She stood up also, she knew from experience that she had only a very short time to smooth this over.   While most of her experience came from watching his wrath be unleashed on others, she was not immune to it, and she knew it.  The rage that swept off of him always frightened her, it was untamed like a wild animal that had been released from its cage.  Her mind flashed, for a moment, to her youth, when his beautiful eyes had stared at her with the same ferocity out of a beautifully ferocious face, to send her off in utter tears.  “You must weather the storms to see the plants grow,” her Shishou had told her, sending her back to him.  She had been clumsily able to, that day, to rein in the wild anger that he had unleashed, but she was not a young girl any longer.    She knew the tiny space that she had at her disposal, and she would not waste it with uncertainty.

 

Looking up at him, she said, “You,” she spat the word out, “ You have weathered what would send another man into madness.   You  have rebuilt your clan from nothing,  nothing! You  have built a business from a penny to millions.   You have avenged your ancestors, you have avenged Miyabi’s ancestors, and still you continue to avenge those whose hands are covered in blood.   You , do this, Saki.”  His look had not changed, his eyes bored into her, but neither had he moved.  She reached her hand up and touched his cheek, the scarred skin tight and unyielding under her fingers.  

 

Again, her mind flashed back to her Shishou’s estate, to Saki’s smooth face that she wanted to touch.  His face had been twisted in anger then also and she had been afraid to do so.  “I want to stroke your cheek,” she had said, feeling her own grow red with the admission.  The sweat on his temples ran down to his jaw, his hair stuck to his forehead in the heat of the summer.  He had said nothing, simply looked at her like she was crazy, the vexation on his face being replaced with confusion.  She had reached up a hand, dirty with gardening soil and traced her fingertips along his sleek skin, leaving a trace of black in her wake.  It had been at that moment, when of her own insight, and not that of Miyabi, that she knew he was destined to be great.  Her own look had probably mimicked his, the revelation had surprised her so much.  “You will have your vengeance,” she had said gently, almost as if she wasn’t the one speaking, but something else was speaking through her.  His mouth had opened a little, the confusion disappearing slightly, until he’d turned away from her, back to the patch of flowerbed that they had been assigned to work on.

 

Wonder did not cloud her mind now, however.  It had been 20 years ago, and wonder no longer struck her like that.  But anger did, and it was her own anger that she also had to quell as she spoke.  “ You will avenge Karai,” she said vehemently.  “If this Baxter Stockman cannot bring back your daughter, then you will find someone who can.”  She looked him in his eyes, as she had always done, with honesty and knowing.  “You will do this.”

 

The look of anger faded from his face at her words to impassivity, and he blinked slowly, as if realizing something he had forgotten.  “I will avenge Karai,” he growled.

 

“And I will help you,” she said.


	4. Chapter 4

The Shredder kicked at his assailant, his leg moving so swiftly that it was a blink of a movement, his leg was on the ground, and then his leg was parallel to the floor, and the Foot ninja went flying across the dojo.  Bradford came at him next, not a challenge by any means, but better than the warriors that were being thrown at him like paper balls.  At least with Bradford, he was able to do a few moves before sending him flying across the room.  Morning practice was not having the effect he wished it to.  He did not have to concentrate, everything was too easy, and he had not yet been working physically long enough to have exhaustion quiet his mind for him.

 

His thoughts had run last night after Nikka had left until he fell asleep, and this morning had been little better.  Flickers of memories danced before his mind’s eye, waking up, during morning meditation, during practice.  He had now, after his muscles began a slight burn for a period of time, been able to quiet his mind enough to have an entire memory play out before another one took its place.

 

He did not want any memories swimming around in his mind.  He wanted his mind to be blank.

 

It was so hard to get it blank.  Anger swelled in him, bursting from just below his throat to the end of his fist, colliding with Bradford’s ribcage, crushing the breath out of the mutant.  Since Karai’s mutation he had not been able to keep his mind still.  Memories plagued him like a creeping madness, from his youth, from this adulthood, from his middle age, now almost half way done.  He had hoped that recapturing Karai would calm his frenzied brain.  All it had done was make it worse, stoking the flames of rage with every passing day.  With the Kraang gone, he had to rely on Baxter Stockman, that sniveling fly, to create a retro-mutagen.  Once again, Hamato Yoshi had ruined his life, turned his beloved daughter into a monster.

 

“No, Saki,”   Nikka’s voice drifted into his head as his fists swung and his shoulders rolled.   “You cannot let yourself think that way.”    When despair was waiting to take him, sitting on the sidelines waiting for his anger to subside just enough to fit through the crack between calm and rage to overtake him, she had the uncanny knack of fighting it away.  Her fighting was gentle, not a great battle of wills or of wits, but a soothing that spoke the truth.  

 

There were so few who spoke the truth to him anymore.  He could count them one hand.  Tiger Claw.  Bradford.  Nikka...he swung his leg with ferocity at the ninja that came at him, catching him with the inside of his calf.  The man went tumbling across the floor once his arc through the air was complete.  At least the man tried to recover, he’d have to remember that one might have promise.

 

He had to keep Hamato Yoshi out of his mind, or else he would permanently damage one of his sparring partners.   Sparring partners, pffaah! he thought.  They were punching bags, collections of muscle and bone to be thrown around with ease, such ease that he could still think, that he could still tell himself not to think.  He had to be honest.  They were pathetic.

 

He had not expected, when he had first come to Miyabi’s estate so many years ago, for a practitioner of  geijutsu  to be honest.  He had assumed, having never knowingly met one, that they were inherently dishonest people, the word did not have the connotation ‘to act’ for nothing.   There were those who were dishonest, and it was those who were not great.  Many of them were not even good.  The great ones, the few who now lived and practiced and taught on a level that would rival that of medieval Japan, were honest with those around them.  It was that trait itself, that made the them great.  It was that trait that had surprised him to such an extent when he came to Miyabi’s house so many years ago.

 

He had been walking the outer hallway with her, she was speaking to him about his past, he couldn’t remember exactly what it was now.  He had been listening intently, determined to remember every word that woman told him of his true heritage.  He had been waiting impatiently for weeks for her to say something, but all she had done so far was ask him questions.  “Tell me about your military service,” she would say, or “Tell me of your  ninjutsu  training,” or  “Tell me of your first love.”  She had, of course, asked for the details of his ‘argument’, as she put it, with the Hamato Clan early on in his stay.  He had been obliged to tell her, with the least amount of details possible.  She hadn’t asked for details when he omitted them, but she had not answered his questions in return.  She was tall, the top of her head came to his nose, even back then her hair was dyed black, and the dark red lipstick she wore about her lips would begin to smear into the wrinkles of her lips by the end of the day.   She knew so, so much that had been kept from him his entire life.  She knew the truth, and she spoke the truth, she spoke it to him, and it was like sweet water running down a parched man’s throat.

 

They had turned a corner, both walking with their arms behind their backs, spines straight, eyes ahead of them.  As they rounded the bend, he saw a light brown haired white girl sliding along the hardwood floor in her socks toward them at an impressive speed.  Her legs were in the position of a skateboarder, as if she had something underneath her.  Asakami Miyabi, whose eyes were staring straight at the girl barreling toward them, did not even stop in her stride, she continued walking smoothly as if the girl wasn’t there.  Saki had thought for a moment, only for a moment, that the girl was going to knock the older woman down, and that would be quite a sight, to see the great  geijutsuka  sprawled on the floor by a child.   But the girl had more kinesthetic talent than it looked with her hallways sliding.  She changed the position of her legs, to one that resembled her standing gently with one in front of the other, and slowly came to a halt directly in front of the walking pair.

 

She’d stood up straight, and put her own hands behind her back, bringing an exaggerated expression of innocence to her bright blue eyes.  The girl was a young teenager, just beginning to fill out enough to hint at the kind of woman’s body she would become.  Her long light brown hair swayed slightly as she stopped, and she pursed her lips together.

 

Saki had felt a surge of anger toward the girl.  Her game had interrupted the Shishou, she was forced to stop speaking in order to reprimand this little brat.  This was what he was here for, for this information, for this connection, and this little thing had destroyed his first taste of it.

 

Miyabi stared down at her, her face impassive.   She held her hand out, as if asking the girl to give her something.  The girl’s shoulders drooped, and the innocent expression left her face.  She bent down and took her socks off, and placed them in Miyabi’s open hand.  As she did, the older woman’s face became slightly annoyed, and she said in English, “Let me see your feet.”

 

The girl turned around, and lifted one of her legs behind her, to show the bottom of her foot.  Saki had noticed it was a well care for foot, the pink of her heels and the balls of her foot were smooth, and the nails painted a light blue.  Miyabi threw one of her hands back and slapped the girl’s sole with a loud thwack.  Saki saw the girl grimace at the contact, but she put that foot down and raised the other one to receive the same treatment.    She then turned back around, and Miyabi held her socks out to her.  She took them meekly.  

 

He had the impression that he had seen something intimate, something that should have been private, but that Miyabi had chosen to pull the curtain back and allow him a glimpse of.

 

“Oroku Saki,” she said, still in English, as if the small reprimand in front of them had never happened, “this is Veronika Heathcock.”  Still looking at the girl, she continued, “Nikka, this is Oroku Saki, my guest.”

 

Veronika had nodded, and then turned to Saki and bowed.  She looked him straight in the eye when she did, and smiled, a little smile, despite the smacking she’d just gotten.   “Will you be staying long?” she asked politely.

 

“Longer than you will,” Miyabi answered for him, and began to walk forward again.  If Nikka had not moved, she would have simply been bowled over by the taller, older woman.  As it was, she seemed to know what to do, and stepped in line on the other side of Miyabi, a little behind her, holding her socks in her hand.  Then, the great  geijutsuka  continued on with her truth-telling to him, the girl trailing a little behind, listening or not listening, Saki could not tell.  

 

It had not been long after that, that he’d been saddled with the girl, punishment, he had presumed, for some slight he did not know he had committed.  It had taken him a while to get over that, to quell the anger at what he saw as injustice, and see what, exactly, it was that Miyabi was trying to do.  

 

“The children of my womb may be dead,” she had told him one evening, after, perhaps, too much wine and too much truth-telling of his true past, “but she is a child of my heart, and my favorite, Saki.”

 

That was when he understood.

 

He let his fists fly at Bradford as the mutant came at him, moving them in a pattern to strike so eloquently and smooth that even his prize pupil could not defend himself against them, and he was sent sprawling once again.  

 

“Ppphhaaa!” he growled, turning away from the dojo suddenly and walking toward the shoji doors.  Pathetic.  They were all pathetic.  None could compare to him, none could come close to him.  He stood on a mountain top where few could climb, and even those that could had a difficult time getting there.

 

Bradford was at his back, he could feel him walking behind him.  The Shredder strode, with his long strides, down his lair, to Baxter Stockman’s lab.  Karai, his beautiful Karai, with her face like her mother’s, with her spirit like her mother’s, was trapped in the body of a beast which he had to keep caged in a terrarium.  The scientist insisted he was working on a retro-mutagen, that was close to being able to change his daughter back.   The vision of her emerging from the tank of mutagen, the awful knowing that her black haired head would not be there, but something else flashed before him.  The elongated white and purple head, the slitted eyes, eyes with no intelligence in them in, the eyes of an animal, stared back at him from his mind’s eye, taunting him.

 

He stopped when he came to the landing that entered the large laboratory, as he always did, to survey the chamber.  Stockman was at the center, doing whatever it was that he did.  The Shredder did not know what, nor did he care, as long as the job he was assigned was completed.  His eyes moved to where Karai’s terrarium sat, and in front of it was Nikka, staring into it with an almost vacant look on her face.  She was wearing a small, tight t-shirt and black yoga pants, her hair was up in a ponytail, the remnants of her own morning exercise.

 

“Leave me,” The Shredder instructed Bradford, not even turning his head to look at him.  He heard, and felt, the mutant move away, back the way they had come, far enough to have ‘left’ but not far enough to be ‘gone’.  Just as he was supposed to.

 

The sound made Stockman look up, but Nikka kept her eyes at the cage.  The fly flew to where The Shredder was striding down to the landing that held his daughter’s terrarium, “Mazzzter Shredder,” he buzzed.  “Zzzzhhhee has been here--” he said in almost a complaint, and motioned to Nikka with one of his deformed arms.

 

“--I know she has been here,” he said impatiently.  “What she does is of none of your concern.”

 

The fly lowered his head, and backed away, “Yezz, Mazzter Shredder.”

 

The Shredder arrived at the landing, and as he approached, Nikka looked over and smiled sadly at him.  Her eyes filled with liquid that did not fall, even when she blinked, and said, “She isn’t in there.”

 

Panic struck him for a moment.  What did she mean she wasn’t in there?  How could she not be in there?  There was no way for her to get out.  Everyone was acting as if everything was normal, going about their business, how the hell could she not be in there?

 

But she was in the terrarium.  He could see her torso, the white pressed against the glass as the light inside warmed it up.  The girl must be cold, she usually did not press herself against the glass, but retreated from it.  At least, she did when a person approached.

 

He understood what Nikka had meant, the panic sliding off of him as it had come upon him, easily and suddenly.  “She is in there,” he said, with more confidence than he felt.  “She has retreated.”  When Nikka said nothing, he spat out, “Would you not retreat to the recesses of your subconscious if this is what you had become?”     

 

Looking at the snake girl in the cage, Nikka answered, “Yes,” in a quiet voice.

 

They stood, side by side for a while, the whirring of the fans to regulate the temperature from the many bodies and machines, the slight buzz of Baxter Stockman as he worked.   Their quiet was not oppressive, it was not one trying to outdo the other, but an understanding that neither of them had anything to say.  It was refreshing to not have to push so hard, The Shredder noticed, to maintain a stronghold on all around him.  He had forgotten the ease with which she afforded him, and it surprised him slightly, despite his talk with her the night before.

 

“Have you begun the assignment I tasked you with?” he asked, eyes still on his daughter curled against the glass.

 

Her face did not change, it held the same sad, quiet expression it did when he arrived, and her eyes also looked at the snake mutant in the terrarium.  “The fly failed miserably,” she said.

 

After her hand had stayed on his cheek for a few moments last night, clarity had come to his angry mind.  In Nikka, he had one of his old allies, one of the allies that had stood by his Clan for generations, whose goals were the same as his, whose desires were the same as his, whose destiny was intertwined with his, whether he liked it or not.  He did not dislike it, Miyabi’s house had proven to be a powerful confederate to his Clan as a whole, and Nikka had proven a powerful one to him personally.  He had no reason to dislike that the fate of The Asakami and The Foot were braided together. 

 

He would have his vengeance, and she would help him.

 

When her hand had dropped from his cheek, he had immediately come up with a job for her.  His men had failed him, over and over, the repeated defeat was beginning to feel like a rhythmic drumbeat.  They should not have failed him, not against four teenage boys and their teacher, not against four turtles and a rat.  But they did.  Her performance at the restaurant had come to him, seeming so easy and carefree.  “Find out which of my men can resist The Art,” he had said.

 

“That’s all?” she had asked.  “That is a simple task.”

 

“That is the first task,” he had growled.

 

She had nodded her understanding.

 

He made a noise of disgust, and looked at her reflection in the glass . “I could have told you Stockman was not worth the time to even try.”

 

Her own eyes met his in the reflection also, looking from one to the other as if he could see out of both, and she smiled slightly.  “You did not tell me that, though.”

 

He turned to her fully, and at the movement, she turned to him also, their reflections in the glass ghosts of their movements superimposed on a white serpent.   “And who else?” he asked.

 

She shook her head.  “Just the people I’ve come in contact with this morning,” she told him.  “None of them have had any response to even balk.”

 

Again, he made a noise of disgust. 

  
“Good help is hard to find these days, I take it,” she joked.

 

He turned from her, and began to walk back toward the entrance of the lab.  She caught up with him, her sneakers not making much noise as she walked.  “I am surrounded by weaklings,” he said, his voice was harsh but hushed.  

 

“Don’t worry,” she said soothingly.  “We’ll ferret them out, and put them in their new places accordingly.”

 

He made a noncommittal noise.

 

“You don’t think I can do that in three days before I go back home?” she asked, “When I have little else to do while I am here?”

 

“I have no doubt that you can,” he told her.  “That is why I asked you to do it.”

  
  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

Bradford was not surprised when The Shredder walked out with Mistress Veronika, the two of them talking quietly.  He could hear them now, he wouldn’t have been able to before his mutation.  They had a way of speaking that was hushed but not a whisper, where all the words had seemed to run together into an indistinguishable ssshhhh-ssshhhh like ocean waves.

 

Now, however, he could hear every word clearly and distinctly.   “I have no doubt that you can,” he heard his master say, “that is why I asked you to do it.”

 

Bradford had been under the impression that it was Veronika who had wanted something of Master Shredder for this visit, not the other way around.   He knew that his master called on the  geijutsuka  for some jobs, all of them business oriented as far as he knew.  He also knew that they occasionally vacationed together, and that Nikka spent as much time with Oroku Saki as she did with Oroku Karai.  He also knew that her husband never accompanied them.  He strongly surmised that David Eustace and his master were not overly fond of each other.

 

“Tell me, Chris,” MiIstress Veronika’s voice came through his thoughts, bringing his attention back to her.  “How are you running the  dojos  when you…” her voice trailed off.

 

Bradford felt a flare of anger, but took a deep breath to let it slide off of him. Her using his first name, and what that represented was not lost on him.  She was making a ranking call, unlike the night before, when she had greeted him more formally, closer to a basis of equals.  He knew they were not equals, he knew that they were nowhere near equals, but occasionally the show of it bothered him. 

 

He remembered when he first met the woman, Master Shredder, no Oroku Saki had sent him to pick her up at the airport.  It was a big deal that he was given this task. He fought the excitement of being asked to retrieve someone close to his master, a personal friend.  He had to exert himself to school his feelings, to remain calm and in the now.  When he’d first been given the assignment, the vision of him holding a sign that said, “Ms. Heathcock,” and himself in a limo driver’s suit flashed in his head.  Surely The Shredder was not asking him to do that.

 

“How will I know who she is?” he asked.  Bradford had never seen her face before.  He could identify her handwriting from the letters that she and Oroku exchanged.  He might have been able to identify the lilt in her voice from the few conversations he had heard the two have over the mobile phone.  

 

“She will know who you are,” his master told him.

 

While waiting at the airport, grateful he didn’t have to drive a limo but was able to drive the Lexus instead, he kept looking about for what he thought a Veronika Heathcock would like.  He was surprised when a young woman approached him shyly, her dirty blonde hair tied back from her eyes in two barrettes to show her face.  “Mr. Bradford?” she asked the tall, bearded man.

 

“Yes?” he answered, uncertainly. 

 

She looked at him, apprehensive surprise on her face.  “I’m Veronika Heathcock,” she said in a clear voice.  “Saki told me you’d be picking me up.”

 

His jaw had actually dropped at the statement.  This woman was the same age as him!  She might have been younger than him!  He had expected a contemporary of the The Shredder’s, a shrewd looking, middle-aged woman, all lines and angles.  What stood before him was a young woman of soft curves and a gentle look.  She was pretty, but not in any kind of way that he’d be able to describe to anyone.  There was nothing outstanding about her appearance, she was plain, and might blend into the crowd, but at the same time, she was very pleasing on the eyes.  Her eyes, which looked directly into his, were a bright blue, like Caribbean ocean water.  She was supposed to be a master of some kind, one of the best in her field, whatever secret field that was.  He wasn’t privy to that information.  But that surely couldn’t be possible.  

 

“Mr. Bradford?” she had asked, her face beginning to show signs of fear, her eyebrows drew up and her mouth turned down slightly.

 

He had straightened, cleared his throat, and closed his mouth.   He gave a small bow, “Yes, Mistress.”  He reached for her suitcase that she was dragging, and she deftly let it go just as his hands were taking it, not touching him at all.  “Is this all you have?”

 

She had nodded, “It is,” she smiled at him, and he felt the clouds of the world had parted to reveal not only the sunshine, but every star beyond it.

 

While driving her back to Oroku’s penthouse apartment, the feeling of utter contentment, and a niggling confusion waved in and out of his consciousness as they spoke to each other.  It was just small talk, to make the time from La Guardia Airport to the apartment more pleasant.  But when the conversation lulled, and his mind cleared with the driving, and her face turned to the passenger window to look out at the world passing by, a dreadful realization came to him.     He wanted to say this woman was too young to be a master at anything.  It simply wasn’t possible.  How could The Shredder be  friends  with her? She was so innocuous.  Friends implied equality, and he was sure they were friends.  

 

Master Shredder was the best at what he did.  He was one of the greatest masters of  ninjutsu  in the entire world.  Chris Bradford had never seen him bested by anyone, ever.  He was great in the real sense of the word great.  When he was the age of this woman who sat in the passenger car, the age that Bradford was now, he was already a master at his art.  He had already reached the status that had no other to reach after it.  Apparently, this woman had done the same with whatever it was she did.

  
It had made Bradford feel very small, despite his size.  For some reason, it had never sunk into his brain that he was surrounded by greatness.  He knew it, he knew it intellectually, but it was not until that moment in the car with Veronika Heathcock, thinking of what Master Shredder must have been capable of at his age, that he believed it. 

 

“...can’t see the light of day?”  He finished her sentence for her as they walked toward the elevator in Shredder’s Lair.  His voice held more resentment than he meant for it.

 

The woman looked up at him compassionately, the faux pas she felt she committed plain on her face.  “That is certainly one way of saying it.”

 

He felt a tingle of confusion at her words, as if they weren’t necessary, and he was blessed that they had been directed toward him.  But that made no sense, of course they were necessary.  They were conversing, and that was the next logical thing to say in such a conversation.  “The telephone is a wonderful invention,” he told her.

 

She laughed, and he felt his chest jump, again, an unnecessary blessing directed at him.  No, he told himself, it wasn’t.  It was supposed to be flippant, people laugh at flippant things.   “I imagine that there are few Facetime calls, then?” her voice was light and delightful.

 

He cleared his throat, and shook his head gently to try and clear the cloudiness that had come upon him.   “No, Mistress,” he confessed.  

 

She looked at him approvingly, as if she had taught a dog a new trick, and it was finally understanding the command.  That look melted him, made him want to drop to all fours like a puppy roll over to his stomach, and whine for a pat on the head.   He forgot how nice her voice was.  Or how pretty she was.  There wasn’t anything exceptional about her, there never was, but for some reason, when she looked like that, she was stunning.

 

Then the look turned to one of extreme disappointment, and she clicked her tongue, “Oh, Chris!” she said exasperatedly, like a mother would with a child who had misbehaved doing the same thing over and over again.

 

He growled low in his throat, more from annoyance than to threaten, but by the time he realized the sound came out, it was too late.  He saw what transpired very clearly, yet had not the power to move fast enough to do anything about it.  The thought of what to do seemed to be delayed until right after the next thing happened.  

 

He saw Veronika stiffen, her eyes go wide, and take a step back.  Then, he saw The Shredder’s fist coming toward him, his master’s fingers curled in its black glove, his gauntlet ending just above his first knuckle.  Then, he was flying across the hall, his back cracking against the wall with such a force that his breath left his lungs in a whine.   Stars danced before his eyes when he tried to force them open as he felt himself slink to the floor.

 

The Shredder was standing over him, “You would do well,” he said in a deadly calm voice, “to remember your place, Bradford.”  

 

Mistress Veronika was standing beside, and a little behind him, her body drawn erect and stiff, the look on her face mixture of pity and disgust.

 

“I am sorry, Master Shredder,” Bradford managed to get on his hands and knees, to bow properly before his master.  “I--I do not--She--I don’t know what came over me,” he managed to get out.

 

“You are a spineless simpleton is what came over you,” The Shredder turned from him, and strode past Veronika to continue down the hall.   The  geijutsuka  followed him, so that Bradford could not see either of their expressions as The Shredder said, “Gather everyone together.  We have work to do and a dinner appointment.”

 

“Oh,” Nikka’s voice sounded excited, “Do I get to go?”

 

“No,” The Shredder said, as a parent does to a child.

 

Nikka pouted, sticking her bottom lip out.  “Don’t take Chris falling for that out on me,” she said.  “He held out longer than I expected.  And he caught himself after a while.”

 

The Shredder gave her a sidelong glance.

 

“That’s improvement,” she tried to sound chipper.

 

“Not enough,” he replied.

 

“I take it your dinner appointment is not at the Eleven Madison Park Restaurant,” she noted.

 

“No,” he replied.  “It is a much lower brow place.  I doubt you would like the company.”

 

“Ahhh,” she raised her eyebrows in understanding.  “I see.  I will let you gather your forces then.”  

 

He simply stared down at her.  

 

She could not see the expression on his face from the mask he wore, but his eyes, despite one being blind, were still telling.  She smiled up at him gently, “It will be alright, Saki,” her voice was soft.

 

He shook his head, and she was not sure if he was saying “No, it will not be alright,” or if he was saying, “It cannot be any other way than alright.”

 

She reached her hand out and put it on his arm, bare, muscled and smooth.  She was surprised by the feeling, and slightly surprised that the feeling extended from her fingers to her torso.  “Will I get to see you tonight when you get back?”

 

“I would imagine it depends on how the evening goes,” he replied, still staring down at her.

 

She was silent a moment, before saying, “Happy hunting.”

 

He chuckled, a derisive sound, but a laugh nonetheless.  “Indeed,” he said, turning from her and continuing on his way.

 

She went back up to her own rooms, where Miko was awaiting her.  The girl stank of “spy”, and Nikka had no illusions that was exactly what the girl was doing.  Whom she was doing it for, she wasn’t sure.   Bradford had no reason to spy on her, and if Saki was going to spy on her, he’d have picked her out.  She was here because she was being punished, which meant she was spying for her own informational gathering.  That bit of knowledge spoke volumes of the girl.

 

“Do you need anything?”  Miko asked.  

 

Nikka glanced at the clock, “Actually,” she said, “you can get me a Coke.  I’m taking a shower, and then I’m going to call my husband before he’s out of touch again.”

 

At the word ‘husband’, Miko raised her eyebrows, but left the room for the requested drink.

 

She had a quick shower, to clean the sweat of the morning from her body, and clear the cobwebs of the night before from her mind.  She was not thinking clearly, not the way she normally did.  Usually, she had no little voices chattering in the back of her mind, she was sure of what she was doing, and why she was doing it.  If she did not know why she was doing it, she tended not to do it unless Miyabi-shishou asked her to.  It had been a very, very long time since she’d been in the position to be asked to do something to which she didn’t understand. 

 

But the strange, downright hellish, information she’d learned in the past day was bone shivering.  When she’d awoken in the morning, she thought that she’d had a nightmare, but then this morning it just continued onward, even though she’d woken up.

 

Getting out of the shower, and towelling off, she called her husband, and her phone rang four times before the face of David Eustace popped up on the screen, a surprised look on his face.  “Hello, darling!” he said in a classic New England accent.  “I wasn’t expecting you to call!”  

 

"I saw that you might have a minute, so I decided to check in,” she replied, taking her hair down from the towel.

 

“You’ve just taken a shower,” he noted obviously.  “Does the hotel have a nice bathroom?”

 

“It is a very nice bathroom,” she answered, “How was your presentation yesterday?”

 

“Oh, darling!” his face broke out into a huge smile, brown eyes wide.  “It went famously!  You should have seen who was in the audience.  Dr. Albert Borton, Nikki, Albert Borton.”

 

She nodded enthusiastically, a smile on her face also.   “That’s good!” she said.  “Who is Albert Borton?” 

 

“He’s the most prominent scientist in the field!” David exclaimed.  “That’s great!”

 

Nikka laughed, “Ok, Tony the Tiger, whatever you say.”

 

David shook his head, his shaggy dark brown hair fell in his eyes.   He needs a haircut, Nikka thought to herself,  before his hair gets out of control.    “Nikki,” he said, drawing out the final “eeeeee” sound, “This is monumental!  I didn’t even know he was in Montreal.  The simple fact he was in my talk says he’s interested in my work.  If he’s interested in my work--” 

 

“--then the cosmology department could get a huge grant and the funding could do so much,” Nikka said in a rehearsed voice.  “But Oroku Industries cannot make a donation, no, that wouldn’t do.” 

 

“My work would be undermined if a company on which my wife is a major shareholder donates large sums of money,” he said.  “No one would take my research seriously.

 

What was there to take seriously? She wanted to ask.  How old is this star compared to that one?  How far back in time does a certain wave of redshift mean?   “I have said over and over, that it doesn’t have to be a large sum of money.”

 

“Saki,” he said the word like a curse, “does not do anything unless it is with large sums of money.”

 

She never liked the way David said Saki’s name.  After the first time of hearing him say it, even before he said it with what little venom the gentle man could muster, she wished she had not let him.  She felt possessive of it, even though it was only a name, and not even hers.  It should be spoken with respect, with authority, with reverence. 

 

“Saki,” she said the name gently, “could get you your own lab, your own observatory, you can do whatever research you want---” 

 

“Why would he do that?” David asked, annoyed.  “He doesn’t even like me.”

 

“He likes you fine.  He has never told me he doesn’t like you.”

 

“That’s how he treats people he likes?” he asked incredulously.  “I would hate to see how he treats people he doesn’t.”

 

“He treats you just fine,” she clicked her tongue.

 

“Staring at someone in silence and saying nothing in any conversation is not treating someone fine.” 

 

“Well, honey,” she said, trying to hide a laugh and not feel smug, “he isn’t a college professor.  He is a ruthless businessman who handles hostile takeovers of other companies.”

 

David looked guilty, and then smiled at the phone.  “I’m sorry, darling.  How has your visit been?  Has he been his normal happy self?” 

 

She twisted her mouth at him.  “Considering the circumstances, he’s been very happy.”

 

Again her husband looked guilty.  “He’s put you to work, I take it?”  David’s voice didn’t sound pleased.

 

“I have already avoided a hostile takeover,” she told her husband.  “Do you want to know the details,” she waggled her eyebrows at him.

 

David shook his head, “No, thank you.  I wouldn’t even begin to understand anything you said.”  He chuckled, and looked at her lovingly.  “You are not a musician who pretends at being a business woman, you are a business woman who pretends at being a musician.”

 

“You are a professor who fell in love with the music, and pretends he is in love with the musician,” she countered playfully.  She knew the words were mean, she knew her voice wasn’t, and she knew that David could take it either way.  Which way would he take it? she wondered. 

 

“That isn’t so!” his accent thickened.  “You don’t honestly think that, do you Nikki?”  He sounded almost panicked.

 

She hid a smile, or rather, smiled a different smile than the one she was feeling.  “I don’t think that, Davey,” she said.  “I’m teasing.”

 

The man looked relieved.  “Are you practicing?”   


 

She shook her head, “I will be going home the day after tomorrow, I’ll be fine missing that much practice.” 

 

He nodded.  “Just in time for Ashton’s birthday.”

 

“Yes,” she agreed.  “You must remember to call him on his birthday.  Just because you’re in Montreal at some big-wig conference--”

 

“Says the woman who has played the piano for the Emperor of Japan,” he interrupted.

 

“--doesn’t mean you get to forget your son’s birthday,” she continued as if he had said nothing. 

 

He laughed into the phone.  Nikka liked his laugh.  It was a dorky laugh.  “Yes, Mrs. Eustace,” he said.

 

She looked back at him for a long while, then shook her head.   “Go back to work, Davey.  I know you have a full day ahead of you.”

 

He smiled, like a little boy who’d received a pat on his head from his mother.  “You have a good day, darling.”

 

“You too.”

 

“I love you,” he beamed.

 

She smiled, “I love you, too,” she said quietly and hung up the phone. 

 

“Your Coke,” Miko’s voice came from behind her.  Nikka almost jumped out of her skin at the sound.  She hadn’t heard the girl come back in.

 

“Thank you,” she breathed, taking the glass from her.    She put her hand through her hair, and sighed.   She was going to have to keep an eye on this girl. 


	6. Chapter 6

Saki took a drink of his rice beer, poured into an exquisitely carved pottery beer glass, and motioned for his man to open the door when the knock came from the other side. 

Nikka came in, dressed in a long summer dress with a small bolero on to warm her shoulders. She looked like something out of a gardening magazine, Saki thought, a stark contrast from the night before in the classic modern take of neo-Japanese fashion. The dress would be alright if the collar was a little higher, and the bolero was dropped. The colors needed to be much bolder, the pretend-to-not-be-pastels of American fashion were boring, just as most all American decorations were boring. Her hair was up, held up with combs, as tended to be her wont, adorned with the same pastel colored gems as the dress. Nikka’s fashion sense was all clinical, coming from a place of calculation, not talent. Miyabi had succeeded in teaching her prize pupil many things, how to dress was not none of them, in his opinion.

She smiled at him happily, and he felt the tickle of relief trickle through him. It was so rare lately that anyone was happy to see him. No one had a reason to be happy to see him, or pleased to see him, but then, they gave him no reason to be happy to see them. Failures, every last one of them, failures. 

As she approached, she looked him up and down, as he had her, in his khaki trousers and blue shirt, plain attire for the evening. She was genuinely glad to see him in a good mood, her attempts to shake off the thoughts of his bad mood has eluded her. She had found out, through talking with the members of The Foot that were present in the building, that Saki went to visit his daughter every day, without fail. Sometimes he stood in front of the terrarium for hours, as if in a trance, and perhaps he was for all she knew, watching the snake inside. When the creature bolted at the glass in an attempted to attack him, he did not move. He did not flinch. He stood, stock still, afraid of nothing, looking at his daughter. Sometimes, she was told, he spoke to her, vowing his revenge, promising a cure from her vile affliction, telling her how proud he was of her. She wondered, knowing enough of Japanese fathers, especially very strict ones like Saki, if he had ever told her he was proud of her when she could understand him. He had told her many times in his letters, of her accomplishments, of her growing milestones, of her incredible skill. She would grow into a worthy successor to lead The Foot Clan.

When she had watched the mutant girl this morning, she had stepped back when she’d come at the glass. She’d walked back up to it, and put her hand on it, fighting tears back. She searched and searched for some sign of Karai, her Karai, almost a woman, fierce and beautiful. She could see nothing, not in the creature’s movements, not in the creature’s look, not in the creatures eyes. There was nothing there but a beast, an animal. The girl, the little girl she loved, was gone.

The shopping trip she’d gone on, making Miko hold all of her packages, having... what was his name, Fong?...hold drive the car to and fro did not make her feel any better either. She picked out beautiful things for Ashton and Greta, and sent them, along with a bouquet of flowers each, to the house. She had found an antique solar system model in a curiosities shop, and sent it, again with a bouquet of flowers, to David in his hotel in Montreal. She bought Miko a dress that she had seen the woman admiring, and told her pick out some matching shoes. Fong was bought a new jacket, similar to the one he was wearing but in much better condition, as it was new and not fraying at the ends. She didn’t need to be seen with people who had items frayed at the ends, even if the fraying was intentional. It showed bad breeding. 

But none of that had lifted her spirits, so to see Saki in a good mood pleased her immensely. She scolded herself for not having bought him anything, and sending it with flowers. She was being selfish today, and now that she knew her children were safe, this visit was no longer about her. 

“I see your evening must have went well,” she noted, sitting down across from at the little baristo table. “And ended earlier than you thought.”

He nodded, changed his position, and poured her a glass of beer in one of the same beautiful pottery glasses. As soon as he put the bottle down, she did the same to his not yet empty glass, filling it to the brim. “I have the entire city at my beck and call,” gratification dripped from his words, he felt the arms of it drape over his chest like a lover. “The way is becoming clear, soon there will be not even a grain of sand to block my path.”

“And what makes you so sure of that?” she asked him, taking a sip of her drink. The question was not asked in contempt, which was his first reaction to the words. The tone was morbidly curious, like a child asking about a fish being gutted on a fishing trip, about to be grilled.

“My dinner appointment went very well,” he said, leaning back. “Though my host has trouble reading,” he smirked.

“Were you being belligerent again?” she asked him playfully. “People might be able to read you better if you weren’t so imposing.”

“Being cute and cuddly does not become one in my position,” he told her.

“No one is saying to be cute and cuddly,” she leaned forward, as if to bridge the gap his leaning back had created. “Just not as...bellicose,” she said delicately, a slight smile still on her face.

At the gradioise word, he switched to speaking Japanese. While her understood Japanese was excellent, her expressive Japanese would not come up with words like ‘bellicose’. The ability to be able use such words, but not have them used at him gave him a perverse pleasure. “Bellicosity is the language these people speak, Nikka,” he told her. “He who has the sharpest blades and uses them the quickest, wins.”

“You always win,” she conceded.

He held his arms in and shrugged in a gesture that spoke loudly, “Of course.”

She topped off his glass from the large bottle of rice beer, and still smiling said, “Tell me about how your...bellicosity…”she said the word in Japanese very slowly and with the wrong accent, and a touch of annoyance, “has gotten the city at your beck and call.”

It was times like these, little statements such that, that reminded him what a geijutsuka really was. Those who knew them, or even knew of them, like to think of them as human snake charmers, weaving words and dance to make someone their slave. There was no use to a snake charmer, other than pure entertainment with the awe they invoked in others at such a seemingly impossible skill. Geijutsu was not an entertainment, despite the meaning of the word. It was a way to gather information, information on a most personal level, about the most personal things, and used with the intent as all information is used, to give one the upper hand. Like him, Nikka had brought her Art into the 21st century. In addition to traditional arts, music, flower arranging, dance, painting. needlework, she had studied modern anthropology, sociology, and psychology to such a degree, she probably could function in any of those professions. If she truly wanted to know the information she asked for, she could get it in a myriad of ways--through his craven cronies, through those he spoke to in front of his craven cronies, through any electronic device she wanted to. Despite her love of talking to someone in person, Saki was not unaware of her prowess as a hacker. 

But she did not use any of those ways to gather the information. She asked him gently, while not in a question, he knew that he always had to right to refuse. While he was aware of her skill, he was also aware of who was the master between them, and it was him.

“I went to see an Italian mobster, named Don Vizioso. I now control all the mobs and gangs in this city that are of any significance whatsoever.” He said the words gently, as if he were caressing them with his tongue.

NIkka let out a gasp like a teenaged girl, “Was it like in the movies?” She leaned forward and giggled. “Did he have a Jersey accent.” She spoke the words in Japanese but with a classic North Jersey inflection. 

Saki nodded and scoffed. “He was in his restaurant. A low class place, hardly fit for someone who claims to be as powerful as he is.” The tone in Saki’s voice was a playful scoff, as if he were talking about a child who thought they had won a championship against a much more experienced player who had thrown the game. “He was eating spaghetti.”

“Spaghetti?” Nikka curled her lip. “Surely he could have eaten something a bit more dignified than spaghetti.” Saki had certainly deteriorated in dealings with people. No, it was not Oroku Saki who dealt with these people, they were not being approached by the consummate business man who made millions from nothing, she reminded herself. They were being dealt with by The Shredder, a much more formidable foe, it seemed. Like her, he lived more than one life, where the two touched, but did not necessarily intertwine. The realization gave her flush of tenderness toward him, understanding and a being understood warming her back and shoulder blades. 

“Vizioso is a fat slob, barely worth speaking with,” he said. With his mouth in a sneer, he continued, “”He thinks he worth something, but he is nothing but a coward like the rest.”

“it is difficult to not be a coward in front of you,” she said, looking him in the eye and smiling softly.

She was not a coward in front of him. She had never been a coward in front of him. He had not seen her cower in front of anyone, unless she was afraid of being physically harmed. Even then, it was not an emotional cowering, but a sincerely physical one, and once she had recovered from the fright, which was usually very quickly, she returned to her former physical position. She looked him in the eyes, always, as if he could see out of both of them. The fact that his face was burned, the skin tight and uneven, did not seem to bother her in the least. Like Karai, she seemed simply to accept it as part of who he was, despite that she knew him when he was handsome, both of his eyes a lovely shaped, shining brown. It unsettled him sometimes, the brutal honesty with which he had to display himself. There was a niggling in the back of his conscious that the advantage it gave her would be used against him, and he had to let it slide from him, like the rain off of a leaf, with the reminder that she was loyal, and that her Shishou’s house would not survive without him.

“There are few who are not,” he said, looking back at her.

Still with a soft look on her face, she said gently, “I imagine not.”

He was tired of this conversation, and not wishing it to continue, sat up straight and said, “I bought you something.”

She laughed, the gentle looking disappearing, replaced with one of anticipated surprise. “The dress you got me yesterday was not enough?”

He snapped his fingers, and his man brought a little, gray bag with “Tiffany & Co.” written in stylized cursive on the front. He took out a little box, and held it over to the table to her. “It is to match the dress,” he said. The woman had awful taste in jewelry, what she considered to match something was a contrasting color, usually emblazoned with white or simply plain white by itself.. Even the combs she had worn with the dress last night had been nothing but white rhinestones.

She pursed her lips, still smiling, and took the box from him. Opening it, she saw it held a set of earrings, a pink diamond, probably two carats each, surrounded in a swirl shape by smaller, maybe quarter carat yellow diamonds. “They’re beautiful, Saki,” she said. She looked up at him and tilted her head to the side, “Did you pick them out?”

The question was a trap, he knew. It was a classic woman’s trap, one that everyone woman played. He smiled smugly, his small, lopsided smile, and said, “Yes.”

She smiled back at him delightedly, and took them out of the box. She loved getting gifts. She loved, especially, getting gifts from him. He was an excellent gift giver, though one would never in a million years guess it from being around him. His observational skills were utterly amazing. Well, he was a ninja after all, wasn’t he? she had thought once in her youth. The giving of a gift was a thought of a person who was not in your physical presence. A set of earrings to match her dress from the night before meant he had been thinking of her at least twice while she was here in his Lair. “Your taste has always been impeccable. Shall I put them in now?” she asked.

He leaned over and took them out of her hand, she gave no resistance to hang onto them as he did. As soon as her hand was unburdened of the gift, she lifted them to her ears, and removed the earrings she was wearing, to put them in the now empty box. Saki stood up, she followed suit, and each came around the table so they were standing in front of each other.

He reached down, and placed the french hooked earring in her earlobe, his fingers gentle, his attention solely on her ear. He could see her pulse in the carotid artery on her neck, and as he placed the earring in her ear, is pinky and ring finger rested there, the _ba bump, ba bump_ of her heartbeat pressing against his skin in a steady rhythm. Once it was in, he slid his hand away, gently brushing her neck and jaw, before putting the other earring in the other ear. The back of his hand rested on her, he noticed that while her heartbeat was still rhythmic, the rhythm was now much faster. The smug smile on his face was no longer from the compliment given to him only a moment earlier, but the one that was being given to him now.

He backed up, to signify he was finished, and she shook her head gently, to make the earrings sway. “So?” she asked, puffing herself up.

“The do not match your outfit,” he said.

She rolled her eyes, “They aren’t meant to match this outfit,” she said as if she were the one who had bought them.

“They are not what I bought you, though,” he said, holding his hand up. His man put a DVD case in his hand, still wrapped in its cellophane. He held it out to her.

She took it and gasped, her mouth dropping open. “You are not serious,” she said incredulously.

He gestured for her to open the wrapping.

She did so, and laughed when she opened the case to find he was, indeed, serious. “How did you find this?” she asked, her smiled wide.

“I didn’t find it,” he said, the statement needing no more elaboration.

“I didn’t even know this was on BluRay,” she said. “Come on,” she headed toward the love seat in front of the television at the left side of the room. “Let’s watch it, then.” She was halfway to the couch, when she turned and gasped, a mischievous look in her eyes. “Let’s be barbaric and eat while we watch it!”

She had said in such an illicit way, that he actually chuckled, a noise that sounded more like a grunt let out with his little smile. “Eat while we watch?”

“Sushi!” she exclaimed. “With our fingers.”

His face became indignant. “I will not eat sushi with my fingers.”

She clucked her tongue, and gave him a sidelong glance that said loudly, “Stick in the mud.” “Sushi, then, with chopsticks,” she suggested.

Saki waved his hand, and his man disappeared.

Nikka came to the TV on the wall, and looked about it, confusion on her face. “Where’s the player.”

Saki have her look that said loudly, “You idiot.” He took the disc from her, and popped it in the bottom of the television set.

“Oooo,” she said, impressed. “I want a TV like that.”

He rolled his eyes as he sat down the small couch, and she giggled, settling in on the other side.

As the movie began, an old black and white Japanese film with the gorgeous cinematography and formal acting of the 1930s, a table was presented before them, by the bevy of people that seemed to come out of the walls and then retreat back into them when they were finished. A plate of sushi, two sets of sticks, an array of dips, and two small plates were put on the table, along with the beer and their elegantly carved pottery glasses. 

Nikka picked up the two individual dishes and handed them to someone, “Tonight we are boorish savages,” she said, squinting her eyes dramatically. The young man she’d handed the plates to couldn’t help but smile at her, and nod his head as he took the plates away.

So they ate their sushi, and poured each other rice beer, with Saki lounging back, and Nikka curling up with her feet beside her. As the movie progressed, her toes ended pressed against his trousered thigh. He noticed, without taking his eyes from the television, that her feet were still well cared for, the nails painted a pastel pink, and a plain white enamel toe ring adorning her middle toe. It did not match her dress, he noted. 

His thigh was warm, and the muscle like sun-heated stone. The men she was usually around, musicians and college professors, they weren’t hard men, who took care of their bodies. They were not majestic men who took care of their minds. Their minds were magnificent in one or two areas, but then they erected fences, and retreated to their ivory towers. Saki, he was not like that. His mind wrapped around many things, like hers did, hungry for knowledge and rarely satiated. He worked his body into exhaustion, like her, testing its limits and ever stretching them outward. While her own stretching might be more gentle, in the form of performance, it was something that did not happen with the others around her. But with him, he too, did these things.

As _The Story of the Last Chrysanthemums_ neared its ending, Saki took out a handkerchief and gave it to Nikka, his hand and hers gently brushing in the exchange, so she could dry her tears.


	7. Chapter 7

The darkened throne room enveloped him in a cool embrace, the distant lights of the city glittering on the glass that served as the floor of most of the room. He could see the piranha swimming languidly, and knew Xever was in his little hidey hole that served as his ‘bed’, swimming about it in the same semi-conscious state as these caribes below his feet.

The Shredder was not happy. His day had been filled with ups and downs, with an emotional roller coaster that had made him return to his center again, and again, and again, like a student practicing stillness. The triumph of the night before, followed by the level afterglow of the the old movie, had been pierced by dreams of his youth, and then memories of his stay at House Asakami during his morning practice.

He and Nikka had begun to watch _The Story of the Last Chrysanthemums_ the first time while he was stuck with her at Miyabi’s estate. Nikka had a penchant for babbling on to fill the silence, and then going for very long periods where she would say nothing, as if she was caught in her own thoughts. He’d often seen her fight tears when in this state, and he would find himself relieved that he did not have to deal with the hormones of teenage girls on a regular basis. No wait, now he did--he was stuck with this teenage girl all the time doing chores, and not-chores. In an attempt to shut her up or cheer her up, he couldn’t remember which now, he’d suggested a movie, to which she’d readily agreed. It was better than weeding the rest of their garden patch they’d been assigned. The Shishou had a huge VCR tape collection, most of them very old movies from before the war. The running joke was that she saw them when they first came out in the theatre. The more he got the know the great _Geijutsuka,_ the more he began to entertain that it might be true. 

They had watched about a quarter of it, when Miyabi herself had come to the open door, and said in Japanese, “Saki, come with me, I have something to show you.” 

Nikka had popped up and gone to turn the VCR off, and came to join them when Miyabi had raised her eyebrows at her. “I do not believe your name is Saki, is it, child?” She switched to English.

Nikka stopped and twisted her mouth. “No, Shishou,” she said meekly.

“I am sure you have something to do,” the older woman waved on of her hands gracefully. “Go do it. This doesn’t concern you.”

Nikka’s shoulders had drooped, but she’d done as she was told.

Miyabi had led him to her bedroom, a shock for the man. She ushered him in, and her dismissal of her prized pupil sudden struck him with anxiety. When she slid the door closed, his anxiety level shot up. Miyabi never closed doors in mixed company. Ever. The woman was a mix of strange old fashioned and new fangled rules, but one that had been consistant was one of propriety. At least, it had been for her students, all of which were female. He stayed by the closed door, ready for an quick, and hopefully unembarrassing escape. 

She kept her back to him, and walked to her closet, a silk enclosure, tied together with ribbon. She opened it, revealing an array of clothing and shoes. In one corner, however, was a large cloth box. She picked it up, and turned toward him, the box in her hands. She sank down on the floor to her knees, and gestured for him to the same. When he did so, across from her, she placed the box down on the ground and opened the lid. Reaching inside, she lifted something out of it and held it up.

“Do you know what this is, Saki?” she asked, again speaking in perfect Japanese, her accent indistinguishable from any particular part of the country, her words crisp and clear like a performer.

“It is a helmet, Lady Miyabi,” he replied.

“It _is_ a helmet,” she replied, an amused smile on her face. “It is a very ancient helmet.” She was silent a moment, her dark eyes searching his face for something. He did not know what she was looking for, what he should be revealing to her at being shown a helmet. He kept his face passive, returning her gaze. When he did not say anything, she continued, “This helmet was made by the brother of my ancestor, a little over one thousand five hundred years ago,” she explained. “At the time, he was one of the greatest swordsmen in Japan, there was no one who could defeat him.” She kept her eyes on his, and her hands on the helmet, holding it gently as it rested on the floor in between them. “Many, many tried, Saki, but none could.” She shook her head, that amused smile still on her face. “From each enemy that tried to defeat him, he would take a metal token.”

That was not unusual, Saki knew. Most ancient warriors in most cultures took tokens of their enemies. Sometimes they were their weapons, sometimes they were pieces of their clothing, sometimes they were pieces of their bodies. This fellow, apparently, liked to take pieces of metal. So what?

“Sometimes it was a small token,” Miyabi went on. “Sometimes it was a large token. But eventually, he had quite an array of tokens.” The older woman leaned forward, her eyes still intently on Saki’s bronzed face. The closeness unnerved him, along with the closed door. "One can only display so many tokens, now, can’t they?” Her smile widened. “So, this warrior took all of these tokens, and forged them together into a molten metal, stronger than steel. He created a helmet out of them.” She stroked the one in front of her. “This helmet. He wore this helmet until he died, and every one of his successors has worn it. Every one of his successors swore to protect it, as a symbol of their allegiance to him.” 

Miyabi could be so trying at times. What was she trying to get at, he had thought annoyedly. That she had sworn to protect this helmet? Did the old woman even know how to fight, much less fight enough to protect a helmet? 

“Do you know the name of my ancestor’s brother who forged this helmet, Saki?” she asked quietly.

Was he supposed to? “No, Lady Miyabi,” he replied.

“His name was Koga Takuza.”

That name he did recognize! He knew his eyes went wide, even though his mind fought to gain control of his body’s actions. He saw the smile on Miyabi’s face beam as recognition crept over his face. He looked down at the helmet on the floor, and reached out one of his large hands to touch it. “The founder of The Foot Clan,” he muttered.

Before his fingers could brush it, however, she picked it up and moved it out of his way. “This is the Kuro Kabuto, Saki,” she said. “This is the symbol of your clan. It is yours. But,” she put it back in the box. “You have not earned it yet.”

He had felt rage rush from his heart into his neck, travelling up his arteries to his face, to his brain. How dare she keep what was his from him? How dare she decide what he had earned and what he had not? How dare she be the one who would choose who hold the relic of _his_ clan, the clan _he_ would rebuild, the clan _he_ would rule? His hands twitched with the desire to strike the woman in front of him, to backhand that wretched smile off of her face.

“And what, pray tell,” he asked calmly, his voice still above his raging heart, “earns it?”

Miyabi stood up, looking down on him like he was a little child, or one of her students. The amused smile was back on her face, as if he’d asked a funny, childish question, ‘Why do dogs poop in the yard?’ or ‘Why does grandpa dribble when he drinks his tea?’ “The worthiness of succeeding,” she said, turning from him and putting the box back in her closet. 

“You are saying I am not worthy?” He knew his voice was harsh. As he stood up, he balled his fists at his sides.

“I never said that,” she said, turning back to him. “I would have not have paid any attention to you if I had not thought you worthy.” The way in which she said it, as if her word ruled the world infuriated him. He was no one’s flower arrangement, to be noticed or not noticed at a whim. “I said, you have not yet earned it.” Her eyes became cold, and her look hard. It had surprised him. He had never seen it before, and the way she leveled it at him made the anger slowly fade away and turn into dread. “Being worthy of something, and having earned the use of the worthiness you possess are two completely different things, Saki.”

He took a long, slow breath in, and a long, slow breath out. “And what does one do to earn the use of the worthiness one possesses?” he asked slowly.

“You must understand,” she said, walking past him.

“Understand what?” he had asked, turning to watch her slide open the door.

“Exactly why you have not earned it yet, my dear Saki,” she had said.

It had ranked him then, and it rankled him now, even with the Kuro Kabuto now on his head. The feeling had taken effort to shake, effort he would have rather taken in other pursuits. His morning practice had not suffered from the memory, but it had not slid from his consciousness as easily as he would have liked. 

Then, Hun had informed him that he had “acquired” a chemical factory that had all of the equipment he needed. The delivery of the chemicals, the visit there went without a hitch. Hun had asked to be in charge, and why should he not be? Success was to be rewarded. Hun had proven a valuable asset in a very short time, there was no reason not to grant his request. Triumph was in his sights, he could reach out his hand and grab it.

Then that insolent boy had shown up! He was not a worthy opponent to fight, he wasn’t worth the breath he had to expend on him. But he’d been wily, The Shredder had to give him that. The shocking device he’d concocted had been clever indeed, and had hurt. It had hurt more than anything The Shredder had felt in a long time. Of course, defeating him and the Turtles had been nothing, merely a thorn in his side. They had not defeated him. They had done nothing but delay his plans, stretching the ultimate triumph a little farther away, so that he had to stretch to reach it, instead of just reach out. No matter. He could move with the speed of lightening, traversing that small space would expend no energy at all.

Getting his stupid henchmen to actually be able to perform their duties was another thing entirely. The incompetence of his highest officials, those he surrounded himself with, seemed to be growing in leaps and bounds. How could people who had once been so capable suddenly turn so ineffectual?

“Saki?” the door to the throne room opened a sliver, to let Nikka’s voice drift through it. He had known she was approaching the door, he could feel her coming. She was not a ninja, she was not an assassin, she was not capable of making herself unseen, either in presence, sound, or sight. He had known she was there at the edge of his thoughts, but her voice brought him out of his head and back into his body, in the throne room.

He did not answer her, only looked at the door.

It swung a little more, and her face emerged from the opening. “Saki?” she said again, her voice very gentle and quiet. “It is almost morning.”

“I know,” he said.

“I heard what happened,” her entire body came in through the crack in the door, just enough to allow her to enter, and she slid the door closed again behind her. She wore a plain brown sarong skirt, with a white button up blouse, form fitting and comfortable. Traveling clothes, he noticed. Not very pretty traveling clothes, at that.

“I am surrounded by fools,” he glared at her, spitting the word in her direction.

“It is difficult for most to attain the standard you wish for,” she said.

“Their incompetence grows daily,” he growled. “Each failure brings another and another. I can count on no one but myself.”

“Maybe it is not them failing,” she said slowly. He fought the urge to stand and march to her, to demand in her face how she could declare such a thing. “Maybe it is you reaching new heights, and they are now farther away than they used to be.” 

The roller coaster of the day was not yet over, it seemed. He let the anger skid off of chest and back, and brought the calm back to his mind and his body. “Perhaps,” he conceded quietly.

“Brooding about it won’t make it better,” she said in the same soft tone of voice.

“I am not brooding,” he retorted, staring at her as he did his other subjects. He was unsure if she would come here to look for him, if she would look for him period, since he hadn’t sent for her. With no gift of a dress, or earrings, or a movie tonight, her night was her own to do with what she would. Each visit with each other was a new dance, where both had learned new steps, and tried them out on the other to see who had what kind of footing. The dance was still happening, it appeared, and new moves were being revealed. Her hair was obviously freshly done, it was still in the loose, but held, position that she kept it in when traveling, pinned away from her face, and letting it fall in front of her ears and down to her shoulders. She had a light application of make up, mascara and lip gloss, made to look natural to someone who did not know what she looked like without it. Apparently she had chosen to gather information, consummately the _geijutsuka,_ and then to come and try to comfort him.

_How sweet,_ he thought derisively. But the back of his mind held a candle flame of relief, of feeling free that he was not trapped in his thoughts alone, that the high mountain peak he had climbed could be climbed by someone else, to join him in his view of the world. This girl, no she was not a girl any longer, she hadn’t been for a long time, this woman surprised him each time he saw her crest the summit.

The door clicked behind her as she pushed on it, “Thinking will not make it better,” she amended.

“There is nothing to make better,” he told her, his arms still on his armrests, his feet planted firmly on the floor in front of his throne.

She looked him up and down, as she had each night when they’d been alone, doing nothing to hide that she was appraising him. She approached his throne, the same way she approached the chair he’d been sitting in, in his suite, her leg peeking through the slit in the sarong as she walked, pale in the dark and against the chocolate brown of the skirt. Only this time, he did not stand up, he remained in the position of the king that he was. Her eyes finally rested on his, as they always did. They did not seem to show any annoyance at his tone of voice, but rather a kind of put-upon sweetness, that reminded him a great deal of Miyabi. She glanced down at the water, separated from them by the glass, and resumed her approach.

“Perhaps,” she said slowly, her heels of her black ballet flats clicking slightly on the floor as she walked, “you are going about this the wrong way.”

He leaned forward, and scowled. He knew the scowl wasn’t visible from underneath the mask he wore, he also knew it was clear in his eyes. “What do you mean?” his voice was slow and lethal.

She seemed not to notice either his scowl or his tone of voice, but went on conversationally, “I talked to some of your people about what happened.”

“Obviously,” he sneered.

“And I think you are going about this the wrong way.” 

He leaned back, her slow approach almost had her at the steps to the dais now. “Explain,” he commanded.

Her face twisted into annoyance at that, and he felt a stab of satisfaction at having brought her to the end of her thread of patience. He could wait an eternity for what he wanted. He had trained, he had honed, he had let the world slide off of him like silk from skin. She performed. In order to perform, one must have an audience. With an audience, there could be no waiting. With no waiting, one could not cultivate patience. “I am not one of your lackeys to toss about,” she said curtly.

He chuckled, and her shoulders relaxed, along with the twist on her face. “Explain, please,” he said dramatically.

She pursed her lips, still not stopping her slow advance toward him. “This boy,” she said, waving her hand, “who has delayed your plans…”

“He calls himself Casey Jones,” The Shredder said.

“Casey Jones,” Nikka went on smoothly. “He is a friend of these Turtles, yes?”

She was speaking in Japanese, he now noticed, and thought back to whether she’d entered the chamber speaking English or not. He couldn’t recall. Vexation bubbled up in him, the same that had come to him in the morning at the memory of Miyabi’s impertinence. “Yes,” he growled.

She took a fluid step up toward him, “And these Turtles are Hamato Yoshi’s disciples? His sons?”

“Yes,” he growled again.

“So, this boy most likely knows Hamato Yoshi, yes?” She lifted another leg and took another step up toward him, her blue eyes luminescent in the dark of the room.

“And why would that be?” he asked. “Does a parent know all of their child’s friends?”

“When the parent is a ninja master, then yes, I imagine they would,” she replied kindly.

He chuckled again, and she crowned the last step to the dais, a well formed thigh materializing from the slit in the skirt, only to be hidden again by the two steps toward his throne. 

“That being said,” she went on, stopping just in front of him, “if he knows Hamato Yoshi, then he probably knows where Hamato Yoshi is, yes?”

She was as infuriating as her shishou, with all the questions and yeses! “Yes,” he ground out. “What good does that do us?”

“It does us all kinds of good,” she said, sinking down next to his feet. She leaned against his leg and put her arm his lap, as if he were the side of a sofa. He could feel the contrast between the soft pillow of the side of her breast and the hard press of her arm against him. Her arm draped over him, her hand dangling down the side of his thigh, her finger softly touching the unarmored cloth. It had been a very long time since he had allowed anyone to touch him in such a brazen way, since anyone had dared to touch him with so much of their body against his in any way that was not related to combat. She was warm, and smelled faintly sweet, like strawberries. Her bright blue eyes looked up at him, wide and innocent. “We get to know Casey Jones a little better, then we get to know the Turtles a little better, and then we get to know Hamato Yoshi a little better…”

“That is the same plan that my idiots concoct,” he snapped, his body not moving. “Capture the boy, the Turtles come to rescue him. Capture the Turtles, Splinter comes to rescue them. Then I have all of them.” He had thought she would come up with something better than that. That plan was child’s play, a plan that even his lowest cronie would think up.

“I did not say anything about capturing anybody,” she said.

He blinked at her. 

She laughed, “Bellicosity,” she said the word with a beautiful Japanese accent, “is not the only way to get things done, Saki. Sometimes, you must move a bit more slowly.”

“What are you suggesting?” he asked, looking down at her, his back straight.

“I am suggesting,” she said, “that you let me help you.”


	8. Chapter 8

Tiger Claw had to admit, he was impressed with Mistress Veronika.  She worked like a graceful  jorogumo , leading an unsuspecting victim away playing her stringed  biwa , to wrap them up in her spider silk and devour them at a later time.  He had seen few people be able to operate with such guile, and, in retrospect, it was a pleasurable thing to watch.  He could see why Master Shredder would be friends with this woman.

 

After they had returned from the Auman Chemical factory, she came into the lounge, reserved for those of a certain rank, and sat down among them all as if she’d been there a thousand times before.  They were all there, none of them yet ready to lick their wounds in private, and all of them needing something to calm their nerves.  Those who had not been with them, but had heard of the misadventure, had also joined them, either the commiserate or to preen, depending on the person.  Tiger Claw himself was vexed, the barb of failing thrown his way had hit home, and his undignified defeat at the hands of the boy who called himself Casey Jones had added more shame to the insult.  That Master Shredder took out his own viterol of failure out on them did not make it any better.  So even he laced his skim milk with something much stronger.  

 

As soon as the  geijutsuka  sat down, Xever was leaning over her, asking if she would like any thing.  Tiger Claw noticed his eyes strayed from her face down her neck to her shirt line, and then back up again.  She wasn’t wearing anything particularly revealing, but the fish mutant couldn’t help himself, now could he?

 

“A rum and Coke, please,” she said.  “You made a very good one last time.”

 

The fish puffed proudly, and lumbered off to fill the request, almost hitting her chair with his tail as he did so.

 

She looked about the group compassionately, and took a deep breath.  “I hear your evenings didn’t go well,” she said, her voice delicate.

 

Bradford had not waited a beat before telling her what happened.  She regarded him interestingly, and Tiger Claw noted that the mutant dog spoke to her with a respectful familiarity that surprised him.  It had not crossed the assassin’s mind that Bradford might also know Mistress Veronika on a deep level, much as he did Master Shredder.  That the two shared some type of history was obvious, their body language was relaxed and comfortable.  However, Bradford kept a respectable distance in his words, a defference that spoke of him not seeing her as his equal.  Tiger Claw wondered if there was a particular incident in their past that drew that line.

 

But the show started when she turned to Xever, as he came back with her drink.  He handed it to her with a flourish, and she took him from, her hand on the top of the glass away from his.  Despite that he had his fingers flayed, she did not touch him as she took the drink.  She asked him for his view on what happened.  He began to tell her, in his flippant way that he had, but this time, her entire body language changed.  She leaned in toward him, her eyes looked intently at his.  The look on her face turned to feminine understanding, she clucked and ooed at all the right places.  The Brazilian was falling all over himself to answer her.  She did the same with Hun, and while he did not fawn over her as Xever did, he did not hesitate to answer any question that she asked.  The rest of the Purple Dragons, when she addressed them, did the same thing, answering her right away, with little thought.  She asked lots of questions, insightful questions.

 

“The factory hadn’t been cleaned out of all of its contents yet?” she’d asked.

 

“We’d only just acquired it,” Hun answered.  

 

“Master Shredder needed us to work quickly,” Bradford explained.

 

“We were clearing it out at the same time,” Xever said.

 

She nodded sagely, as if this was the right course of action, a sort of non-verbal agreement.  “And we still don’t have much of a human arsenal, yet?” she asked.  “I haven’t seen many people around…”

 

“The Footbots made it unnecessary to need human  ninjas ,” Xever said.  “They worked much more efficiently.”

 

“I couldn’t imagine that a robot could ever replace a person,” the Mistress said.  “Freedom of thought and all that.”

 

“You’re following orders, you don’t need to think,” said Tsoi.  “You just do what you’re told.”

 

“But you need to be able to think before following orders,” she said to him,  “adapt to the situation.”

 

“They could,” Xever said.  “They could adapt to a fighting style within a few moves.”

 

“But not anything else,” she said it as a statement, her voice agreeable.

 

“No,” said Tiger Claw.

 

“The Footbots were the reason we failed before,” Bradford muttered, his voice almost a whine.

 

“And I take it you got blamed for it a great deal,” she said sadly..

 

Bradford gruffed. 

 

“You should be blamed for a great deal,” Zeck moved his head from side to side on his skinny neck as he addressed the mutant dog.  “You can’t do nothing right, anyway.”

 

“He can’t?” Mistress Veronika turned to the pig with a pout.  “I have known Chris for a long time, I seem to recall he is Master Shredder’s prize pupil.  You don’t get to be that person by doing nothing right, I wouldn’t think.”

 

“Uh,” Zeck turned his head to the side, and put his hand to the back of his neck, “Well, maybe,” he muttered.

 

“Master Shredder,” Steranko said, “sometimes expects what person cannot deliver.”  Tiger Claw rolled his eyes.  The man had been in English speaking countries for how long, and he still couldn’t speak the language?  He was as stupid as the animal he’d been mutated with.

 

Mistress Veronika had raised her eyebrows, and turned to face the rhino.  “Master Shredder,” she said evenly, “expects of his people what he expects of himself.”  She paused for a moment, smiling pleasantly.  “The best.  He should not expect less than that, would you not agree?”

 

She turned to Tiger Claw, then, and the look on Xever’s face was as if he’d been slapped after propositioning a woman.  The rhino gave a grunt of what might have been agreement, or might not have been.  “I don’t know very much about this boy, and these Turtles,” she said.  “Tell me about them.”  Her voice was sweet and her face eager to hear what he had to say.

 

“They are cubs who continue to get in the way,” he had told her.

 

She leaned in toward him, as she had done with Xever and Hun, and never took her eyes from his.  He noticed she looked from his eyepatch to his intact eye as if he could see out of both of them.  “How do children continue to get in the way?” she asked sympathetically.

 

The question was a straightforward one.  There was no subversiveness in either the words or her tone of voice, but he felt confusion rankle at the edges of his consciousness.   “They are crafty,” he said.

 

“Is a  ninja  not supposed to be crafty?” she replied.

 

Again, confusion crept deeper into his brain, like a liquid bleeding into a napkin.  “They are,” he agreed.  He felt a jolt of recognition, he realized what she was doing.  So this was what a  geijutsuka  did!  He wondered briefly if it was only with men that she could do it, or if women were just as susceptible.   “But their rat master is almost as superb as Master Shredder.  That would make his disciples formidable.”  He leaned in and smiled at her savagely.  “Would you not agree?”

 

With that question, her entire demeanor changed.  She leaned back, and a satisfied smiled beamed on her face.  “Yes,” she said, nodding, her voice changing also, to one of delight. “I would agree.”  She drank down the last of her rum and Coke, and put the empty glass on the side table.  “Thank you, gentlemen, for talking to me.  I have to get ready to leave tomorrow, but I enjoyed this little chat.”  She then turned and walked out.

 

Everyone in the room looked like they’d been hit in the head with a tomato.  They stood there stupidly, their eyes glazed over.  Tiger Claw was surprised they weren’t drooling.  It was so ridiculous that he threw his head back and laughed.

 

“What’s so funny?” Zeck asked, his voice offended.

 

“You are,” he retorted, almost unable to get it out through his laughter

 

“How so?” Steranko asked, his voice slightly raised in agitation.

 

Bradford hung his head, and got up.  “I’m going to bed,” he muttered, and followed the way Mistress Veronika had gone.

 

“You are all buffoons!” the tiger guffawed, shaking his head.  

 

“No I’m not,” said Zeck.  “I’m a pig.”

 

“That was a test.”  Tiger Claw downed his own laced milk, and put the tea cup down before standing up to leave.  “And all of you failed.”

 

###

 

Baxter Stockman about had a heart attack when the pounding on his door woke him up.  HIs head spun with the speed with which he started up from lying down.  What time was it?  It wasn’t even dawn yet, what was someone doing waking him up at this hour?  He almost had another heart attack when the pounding happened again, and he heard The Shredder’s voice, “Stockman!” boom from the other side of the door.  His mind went blank for a moment.  Master Shredder had never come to his room before, ever.  He’d send people to come and fetch him at all hours of night and day, but he’d never come himself.  This could not be good.

 

He half fell-half flew out of the bed, and scrambled to open the door to his bedroom. He tripped on the pant leg of his pajama bottoms, which had slid down slightly in his sleep.  He pulled on his pajama shirt, afraid that it too might have slipped in some unacceptable way, and grabbed the doorknob.  He pushed it open, and his mandibles separated, his new indication of a gaping mouth.  He would have blinked, had he had eyelids, at the two people standing there.  The Shredder, in his full armor, had his arms crossed in front of his chest, his impressive biceps bulging out.  Next to him stood Mistress Veronika, dressed as if she were going out for the day at this ungodly hour.  “Yezzzz, Mazzzzter Shredder?” he buzzed.   “What can I do for you?”

 

Master Shredder walked by him, almost pushing him down in process, and marched into the middle of the bedroom.  He looked around it, like he was inspecting a child’s space, and glared at the scientist disgustedly.  “Where do you keep the psychological profiles?”

 

Stockman shook his head.  “What?”

 

“Where,” The Shredder took a step toward the fly mutant, “do you keep,” he bent down with each word to get closer to his face,  “the psychological profiles?”

 

“I--I--I,” he stuttered, still shaking his head, as if that would change the question.  “I don’t have any psychological profiles,” he buzzed.

 

“What do you mean you don’t have any psychological profiles?” The Shredder asked.

 

He shot the woman a nasty look, though he knew she didn’t know it. He knew this had something to do with her.  She wouldn’t be here before the crack of the day with his leader otherwise. No one knew what kind of looks he gave anyone anymore.  All of his looks were the same to them, only he could feel the difference in his facial features as he moved.  No one else could see them.  “I mean, I don’t have any psychological profiles.”

 

Mistress Veronika still stood in the doorway, looking at him with an appraising look on her face.  Her hands were at her sides and she looked at The Shredder as he talked, her head moving slightly from side to side from him to the scientist.  

 

The Shredder stood back up to his full height, crossing his arms again, his head straight, only his eye looking down on Stockman.

 

“Mazzzter Shredder,” the fly looked toward the leader of the Foot Clan, who still stood in the middle of his bedroom with his arms crossed.  In his whiny voice, he implored, “I was never told that you needed psychological profiles--”

A

“ I don’t need any psychological profiles!”  The Shredder’s voice rang with indignation.  “I study my opponents.  It is the rest of you that need psychological profiles.”

 

Stockman looked from The Shredder to Mistress Veronika once again, “Mazzzter Shredder,” he buzzed pathetically.

 

“Your incompetence tries my patience, Stockman,” The Shredder said, not moving.  The Mistress came to stand next to him, her face considering and stern.  

 

“Perhaps,” said Mistress Veronika, speaking for the first time, her voice fluid, “he could help me compile a profile today.  It should not take me very long to be able to do it.”  

 

“Since you are unable to do your job properly,” The Shredder said in a disgusted voice, “then you are Mistress Veronika’s disposal.”

 

The fly turned in horror to look at the woman standing by his leader’s side.   He knew she could not tell there was horror on his face any more than she could tell the needled look he had given her a moment ago.

 

“I will need everyone in this building who has come in contact with Casey Jones,” she said quietly, her voice clear.  

 

“Everyone?” he repeated.

 

“Everyone,” she said again.

 

“But--but--” again his head turned from The Shredder to the woman by his side.  “But that will take hours, I will have to talk to everyone in the building…”

 

“Then you had better get going,” she said simply.

 

The Shredder moved then, striding out back toward the door.  “Tell them to come to the throne room,” he said.  “And be quick about it.”

 

Mistress Veronika followed him, only a tad behind him and to the side, not looking at the fly as she, too, exited the room.

 

The door remained open, and he could hear the woman walking away, The Shredder’s footsteps silent as always.

 

“No one told me to make psychological profiles,” he groused quietly, turning to his dresser to get his clothes.  

 

###

 

Nikka felt like a queen. 

 

At The Asakami Estate, she was only a princess, second to the greatest living  geijutsuka  in the world. As  hime,  she was always deferred to by others, treated with utmost respect.  But never allowed to exercise authority in the presence of the  jouu  of the House.  In fact, at Miyabi’s command, she was at the disposal of anyone whom her shishou wished.  Indeed, she had been more than once, to people who were not worthy to even be speaking to someone of her quality, much less be served by her.  

 

She remembered the first time she had been at Saki’s disposal, and at the time she had not felt that he was worthy of, either.  He was teaching  ninjutsu  to members of Miyabi’s household.  Nikka did not know how they were chosen to be students, just as she did not know at the time how those learning The Art from Miyabi-shishou were chose to be students.  But Saki-sensei somehow chose them, and taught them outside most of the time, and inside in the dojo when it was raining.  She wasn’t, at the time as a 14 year old girl, sure how Miyabi-shishou had picked up Saki either.  She knew he was an honored guest in her household, he was treated almost as well as Nikka herself was.  He was also treated with the same kind of distance.  But then, she also knew he had no money, he had no family, and the few friends he had did not live close enough to come visit him often.  She knew that Miyabi-shishou had given him almost everything he owned, and she was not inclined to do that just so a man could teach  ninjutsu  in her house.

 

She also seemed to be very fond of him, she was talking to him all the time.  She switched from speaking to him in her unaccented American English, to her native Japanese.  She noticed that Saki’s Japanese accent was different than Miyabi’s, denoting him not from their own little part of the country.  She could not identify where he was from, though.  She told him all kinds of stories about House Asakami’s history, stories that Nikka already knew of by heart, and had even been forced to write songs and epic poems and paint pictures about them for her lessons.

 

Nikka had been feeling particularly lonely the past few days, her tutors for her lessons, and her shishou for the lessons that the tutors did not cover were not enough to fill her desire for people.  Those who were her own age had now gotten old enough that they no longer joined her in her mainstream lessons, but had jobs in the house and took no more academics.  That left her no one to play with during her free time, what precious little she had.  Miyabi-shishou’s other students had gone to the village to play in a way that Nikka was nowhere near old enough to do, so she didn’t have their company.  Their company may have excluded her, but she could still be present when they talked and she knew what they were talking about.

 

She’d come up to Shishou, who was sitting at the low table with Saki across from her.  “Can I go to the bookstore at the village, please, Miyabi-shishou?” she asked.

 

Before she’d even gotten the entire question out, Miyabi had answered, “No.”

 

“But, Miyabi-shishou,” she complained, “Everyone else is gone out.”

 

“You are not everyone else,” the old woman had told her.

 

“They’re the same as me,” she had said, despite the fact that the next youngest of Miyabi’s students was six years older than she.  “They all get to go out.  What do I get to do?”

 

Miyabi had stood up suddenly, making Nikka’s blue eyes go wide.  The girl took a step back, and bowed slightly as her shishou came to her full height.  She glared down at her, and then glanced at Saki.  “I am sure Saki can find something for you to do,” she said.  Then turning to the young man, she told him, “Veronika is at your disposal,” and then walked away.

 

She had given Saki an uncertain look, she was quite sure.  While she was around him a great deal, she didn’t deal with him a great deal, but was only a background decoration at Miyabi’s heels.  He was always in a sombre mood, either scowling or fighting back a hurt expression.  She’d seen him smile for the first time when one of his friends came to visit him recently.  It had transformed his entire face, which was not unpleasant to look at while scowling, into one that was gorgeous.  Heartthrob gorgeous.  She wondered, if when Miyabi wasn’t looking, the women at the Estate and the village threw themselves in his way on purpose.  Since she had never been in his presence without Miyabi, she did not know, but wouldn’t have surprised if it was true.

 

“I am to find something with which to dispose of you, am I?” he had said in Japanese, standing up from his end of the table and looked down at her.

 

She looked him in the eyes, just as her shishou had taught her.  “Look everyone in the eyes,” she was told more than once.  “Do not forget who you are to become.”  She did not bow to Saki, but did not give him a nasty look either.  “Apparently,” she said, “I am disposable.”

 

He winced as she spoke, “You speak Japanese horribly,” he told her.

 

She did give him a nasty look then.

 

“Come,” he commanded, turning from her and walking toward the door.  “I am sure I can find something for you to do that my students missed.”

 

“Aren’t your students supposed to do what they missed,” she retorted.  She was Miyabi-shishou’s student, not Oroku Saki’s.  She would not be spoken to in such a tone without Miyabi present and not spit back.

 

“Yes, they are,” he said.  “But you are to be disposed of.”

 

He had a deep voice, and a broad back, both of which she’d noticed numerous times already, having followed him and Miyabi around for weeks.   He lead her outside, where others were working, and she pursed her lips together in shame.  He did it to show those out here that Miyabi’s little jewel was following him, to show off that she was forced to do what he said.  Oh, she wished she were grown up at that moment, she would have stopped and told everyone to kiss her big toe.

 

But she wasn’t grown up, and could not tell anyone to kiss her big toe unless she wanted a thorough whipping from Shishou when the old woman found out about.  It made her feel a little better that if she commanded someone to kiss her big toe, they would do it.  She would just have to pay for it later.  Maybe it was worth paying the price for telling Oroku Saki to kiss her big toe.

 

He brought her to the training grounds.  At the far end, several men were sparring with one and another, bronzed bodies sheened in sweat, black and brown hair stuck to their ears and foreheads.  There were a few men riding horses in the distance, also, doing all kinds of fancy maneuvers that she did not know the names of.  The evidence of horse riding practice taking place, and the stable hands or Saki-sensei’s students not yet having cleaned up, littered the field.

 

“It looks like the fields aren’t clean,” he said, leaning against the railing to the round training ground.  “Why don’t you help my students clean up?”

 

She felt her mouth drop open.  It had been ages since she’d had to clean up after the horses, and when she had, it was a purposeful punishment, not a service given to a guest--an almost employee!  She looked to a horse pattie, and then back to Saki, her mind completely blank as to what to say.

 

He simply looked at her with that infuriating little smile on his face that said, “Go ahead, say no.  I dare you.”

 

Nikka had never taken kindly to dares, spoken or not.  “No,” she said, her voice calm and assertive.  She tilted her head to the side, and leaned toward him, as if trying to breach the distance between them without moving her feet.  “I am not being punished, and you do not want to punish me.”

 

He laughed, it was a mean, spiteful laugh.  She’d heard him laugh it before, at servants, at his students, at some of her fellow students.  She was totally surprised he laughed at her.  No one had ever laughed at her before after she’d attempted to persuade them of something.  “And how would you know what I want to do, little girl?”

 

The epithet angered her more than the question, but she kept her guile about her.  “Because if you wanted to punish me,” she said, “you would have shown some inclination for doing so before now.”

 

“Oh, so we do know big Japanese words,” he taunted, “not just please and thank you.”

 

How in the world was he not capitulating?  Everyone capitulated!  Miyabi was the only person who did not capitulate.  Ever.

 

“I know plenty of words other than please and thank you,” she said, still calm, still leaning forward.  “Would you like to hear them?”

 

He laughed again, and entered the training ground, his head turning the side so he could still see her.  “With that awful accent, no.”

 

She opened her mouth, all glamor gone from her pose and was able to tell him what words she knew, when he said, “Come.”

 

The command took her off guard, because he’d walked away from the horse field.  “There isn’t any manure in there,” she said, pointing to the training ground.

 

“What do you know how to do?” he asked, ignoring her comment.

 

She followed him into the encircled area, confused.  “What do you mean?  What my lessons are that I’m taking?”

 

He grunted at her, raising his head in an approximation of yes.

 

“I take math, and literature, and writing, and things everything else takes.”

 

Saki had raised his eyebrows incredulously.

 

“And I take painting, and drawing, and calligraphy, and needlework, and singing, and dance--”

 

“What kind of dance?” he interrupted.

 

She grumbled, “All kinds of dance.”  She lifted her and began ticking things off, “Dances so I can dance with people at parties, dances so I can dance at festivals, dances so I can dance to entertain if Miyabi-shishou wants to show me off…”  She made it quite obvious through her voice that she did not like dancing.

 

He lead her to another side of the round fence, and leaned on it, looking her up and down.  It was disconcerting, having someone appraise her appearance in such an open manner, when it was Shishou herself.  She’d never felt self-conscious of her looks before, and suddenly wondered if she measured up to whatever standard he had in  his mind.

 

“Here,” so quick she could barely register it, he grabbed a wooden katana that lay against the fence and threw it at her.

 

She stumbled to catch it, and ended up doing so like a ball, bringing it flat to her chest.  She heard the men at the other side of the training track chuckle, and felt her cheeks burning.  So this was why he had brought her out here, so humiliate her in front of his students, to show that the apple of Miyabi’s eye was awful at whatever it was he was going to make her do.  She gripped the katana by the handle, and jerked the tip into the ground at her feet.

 

“Don’t ever put your blade in the dirt,” he said in a self-possessed voice, taking another wooden katana and walking toward her.  “It dulls the blade.”

 

She thought for a moment he was going to whap her with the wooden practice weapon in his hand, and she grabbed the handle of her own blade and tugged it out of the ground, hoping to have some sort of defence against his onslaught.  

 

However, he didn’t whack her.  He put his own blade on the ground, flat, next to her, and came up behind her.  “When you hold it,” he told her, “you…” he shoved her feet over gently with his own, and put his hands on hers to show how to hold the katana.   He then ,still behind her and with his hands on hers, he took her through a series of swings.

 

She recalled it was much like a dance move, fluid and sensual, only holding something while doing it made it harder to control than if the same move was being done with just her arms.  She felt her cheeks burning even more at the continued twitters of the men off to the side, and a grown disconcertion at the feel of his warmth next to her, and his breath at the top of her head.

 

“Sensei,” called one of the young men, walking over to them, a self-satisfied grin on his face.  “One of us can show us her how it is done, since she seems to be having so much trouble.”

 

Saki had let her go, and stood up, and smoothly picked up the wooden blade on the ground.  “Come, then,” he said, “show her how it is done.”

 

The student came at Saki with an incredible speed, his own katana, a real one, drawn as he launched in the air.  Saki seemed to barely move, the wooden katana in his right hand didn’t move at all.  He simply held it next to him.  His left hand, however, made a series of moves in such a blinding pace that his limb was only a blur in the air about him.  Then, as if the wind had knocked him down, the student was on the ground in front of him, groaning.

 

Saki turned to Nikka, that smug little smile on his face.  “That,” he said to her, “is how it’s done.”

 

Understanding began to dawn in Nikka’s mind, and his worthiness quotient went up about 50 points.

 

Of course, she’d had to subtract 40 points afterward, because he made her do that ridiculous swing with her wooden katana again, and again, and again, and again.  Then he made her do it so the ending of the swing struck his wooden katana, again, and again, and again.  Her arms ached, then her neck ached, then her shoulders ached, then her arms began tremble, then her shoulders began to tremble, and then, finally, as the sun was going down, her arms simply stopped moving.  She’d tried to lift the blade at his command of “Again,” and they would (not) work.  It seemed like a very long time that she tried to get her arms to do what her brain was telling them to do.  He stared at her, standing there composed and easy, as tears filled her eyes, and the sword finally dropped from her grasp.

 

He nodded, and she waited for the obnoxious comment she was sure he would throw her, but he said, “Well done.”

 

Someone could have knocked her over with a peacock feather.

 

“You are disposed of,” he said, turning from her unceremoniously and walking toward the group of students, which had grown in number, which were sparring on the other side of the little field.  

 

“She lasted a pretty long time,” she heard one of them say as she dragged herself back toward the house.  

 

Understanding fully dawned on her then, and she felt her cheeks burn in humiliation, but at the same time a great appreciation, academic and removed, swept through her.  He had brought her to humiliate her, not in menial work of cleaning up horse manure, but to have her break down in front of warriors, to show how weak even the best of Miyabi’s students was.  But, he had been magnanimous at the same time, no one could find fault in any of his actions.  He had taught her little trick with a blade, like one would a little child, and it would be seen as her fault that her muscles failed her.

 

He would have made a good  geijutsuka , she realized.  She gave him back his 40 points, and she added ten more.

 

But here, here and now in this old building that went floors down into the New York City bedrock, she stood just half a step behind Saki, one of the greatest living  ninjas  in the world.  He stood by while she dictated to those under him, he supported what she said, put his people at her disposal.   She wanted to take each person in her arms and squeeze them with the same fierceness of the thrill inside of her.  It filled her with exhilaration and she had forgotten that it felt so sweet.

 

She sat at on the top step of the dais that supported The Shredder’s throne, with a notepad in her lap, and a pencil in either her ear or her hand.  Tiger Claw stood at her left side, looking down like a sentinel made of painted stone.  She made whomever she was speaking with sit on the bottom step, looking up at her, as she gleaned information from each of the people the fly mutant sent her way.

 

As soon as she’d told Saki her plan, he had been silent for a long moment, and then stood up.  “Come,” he commanded, and strode down to the fly’s bedroom.  The discovery of having no psychological profiles had surprised them both, and Nikka imagined that Stockman being at her disposal would not be his only punishment.  He had stayed for a while, sitting on his throne, listening to her questions and her interviewee’s answers.  Tiger Claw, her first interviewee, stood at his left side, and she sitting on the top step.  

 

She had told him, before the tiger mutant had arrived, “You chose your lieutenant well.  He did not fall under my influence.”  

 

Saki had looked at her and made a noncommittal noise.

 

“I think he would have if I had tried harder,” she mused.  “But unless Miyabi herself was to try to persuade him, I do not think anyone else would be able to.”  She smiled appreciatively.  “There are not many that I cannot persuade, Saki.” 

 

“I know,” he had replied.  She couldn't tell if it was a compliment or not.  It was always hard to tell when he was in these types of moods, sullen and tetchy.  

 

She had been surprised at how long he’d sat, not moving, just listening and watching.  Waiting.  It was unnerving, that he could wait with such silence, with such immobility, absorbing what was around him.  This is what made him great, she knew this, but seeing it first hand was always a delight. Iit filled her with a sense of pride at his accomplishments, that she could be in the presence of someone so resplendent.  None of these pleibans had any idea of the significance they got to bask in each and every day.

 

As the sun had risen, he’d gone to do his morning practice, despite having no sleep the night before.  Nikka found that endearing, that he would adhere to such a schedule no matter what.  She’d always found it that way, despite the fact she was unable to do it.  She may have gotten up in the wee hours of the morning to speak with Saki, but she’d certainly slept some beforehand.

 

She didn’t mind the task she’d been given.  In fact, she enjoyed making psychological profiles.  It was like a particularly hard crossword puzzle, where one had to take the clues and find the words to describe them, and then put them all together to make a mockup of what a person would be thinking.  Doing the research in public records, and not so public ones, was like finding hidden treasure on the beach with a metal detector.  She would get inside this boy’s head without having even met him, she would know what he liked, what he disliked, what got him angry, what made him happy, what were his strengths, and what were his weaknesses.  She would use every one of those things to avenge her House against Hamato Yoshi, and any sons he claimed to possess.

  
  
  
  



	9. Chapter 9

As he sat in contemplative meditation, after having cleared his mind, before his morning practice, he thought about what Veronika had presented to him that night.  She surprised him, and that was a difficult thing to do.  Being pleasantly surprised was a rare thing in life, he had discovered long ago, and to be so was refreshing.  She always pleasantly surprised him when he saw her, even after the thought that her surprises were used up.   Perhaps her observation of having moved higher in skill, while those around him stayed in the same place was true.  And perhaps, he thought, she had moved at the same pace as he.  

 

Her plan was deceptively simple.  It was something that he saw now was on the edge of his consciousness, but he had never been able to quite grasp.  The closest he had come was having Karai help Tiger Claw.  No, no he must not think of Karai.  Now was not the right time.  He could contemplate her later.  He let the thought of her slither through his mind, like the snake she was, to exit as it had come.  Nikka’s plan was deceptively simple and involved no...bellicosity whatsoever.  He smiled genuinely at that.  It was smooth and fluid, like Nikka herself.

 

It was a protracted plan, very unlike Nikka herself.  He would be patient, he had cultivated patience all of his life.  He was patient and he was present.  He could wait for his goal, and it came closer and closer with every minute that ticked by.  The  oni , whose likenesses surrounded him in his meditation room, were smiling on him more than he had anticipated by bringing Veronika to him now.

 

Of course, he could see it now, it was these same beings, the ones represented around him, that had done what Asakami Miyabi could not or did not know how to do.  They brought them together, truly together, in the first place.

 

“You are to care for The Morning Garden this month, Nikka,” Miyabi had said late on evening.

 

A look of horror had come upon the girl’s face, and she shook her head, “Can’t I take care of something else, Miyabi-shishou?”

 

“It is your turn,” Miyabi said.

 

“Can I not do it another time?” Nikka went one.

 

“Everyone has their turn,” Miyabi had said sternly.  “Including me.”  She turned to him then, and smiled knowingly.  “It’s time for Saki to have a turn,” she said.  “He can join you, Nikka.”

 

Nikka slumped her shoulders, but the frightened look did not leave her face.

 

The next morning she came to fetch him from the  dojo  where he was meditating.   Instead of her behind him, this time he was in step with her as she lead him to the garden.  He’d never heard of The Morning Garden, and did not know where on the estate is was located.  He began to become disconcerted when they passed through the courtyard, and Miyabi’s other  geijutuska  were gathered in a group.  

 

“Bironika,” one of the women called as they passed, saying the girl’s name in Japanese.  It occurred to Saki then that was how she had come across her nickname, as the accent was on the Niii-Kah.  “I have said a prayer for you, to Koga Tamayori.”

 

“I shall be sure to relay it to her,” Nikka said, not turning her head to face the woman, “I doubt she finds you worthy enough to hear your prayers.”

 

“You have a monkey with you?”  At first, Saki thought she was referring to him, and he turned menacingly toward the group, “Or do you think your  samurai  will be enough?”  Even though he now knew the insult was not at him, his anger did not abate.  He did not like that woman.  

 

Nikka turned smoothly to her, quite a few years her elder, but younger than Saki himself, and said, “No, Raiku.  I think that I will have you come as an offering.  That will probably appease them.”

 

By then, the two of them were out of earshot of the jibes the group of  geijutsuka  threw Nikka’s way.  “Why do you let them speak to you in such a way?” Saki had asked, anger at Raiku still stewing in his gut.

 

“Because the last time I did something about it, I got whipped by Miyabi-shishou,” she said quietly.  “It is not an experience I would like to repeat.”  He noticed she spoke much more like an adult now than she did when around her shishou, or the one time he’d had her at his disposal.  

 

They came to the edge of the forest that surrounded the Estate, separating it from the mountain village beyond.  Nikka stopped on the path just at the edge, and took a deep breath, a contemplative look on her face.   Then, with a drop of her shoulders, she began walking the path into the forest.

 

“There is a garden in the middle of the forest?” Saki asked.

 

“There are many gardens in the border forest.  The Morning Garden,” Nikka replied without giving him space to respond,  “is called that because it the garden to the original house, which was in the morning of the life of the Estate.  I don’t know when it got that name,” she admitted, “but I’m guessing that it wasn’t originally called that when Koga Tamayori was here.”  She walked the path reluctantly, but seemed to know where she was going.

 

“The garden is large enough it is going to take us a month to tend to it?” he asked incredulously.  He understood that he had to do Estate work, everyone did.  It was like that at the Hamato Monastery when he was growing up, and everywhere else that he knew had a sizable chunk of land.  But he’d never heard of a time limit being placed on a task, unless it was teach something other than the task itself.  He couldn’t discern what that would be here.

 

Nikka sighed, “No,” she admitted.  “It will only take us a week.”  Her voice was melancholy, “Two if we go slow.”

 

“Then why do we have to do it for a month?” he asked.  None of this was making sense.

 

The longer they walked on the path, the slower Nikka walked, and more nervous she got.  She looked about with furtive glances, as if looking for something to pop out of the trees at them.  “To appease the  yokai ,” she said in an almost whisper.

 

“By tending the garden for a month?  Isn’t there something more specific we need to?”  Nikka had not brought anything with her that he could see, not even gardening implements.

 

She looked up at him confusedly, “Has Miyabi-shishou not told you the story?”

 

His anger was not abating, but was beginning to be redirected from Raiku to Nikka.  “What story?”

 

“The story of the border forest,” she replied.  If she noted the bite in his voice, she gave no indication of it.  When he did not answer, she continued, “Once upon a time,” she said, and then paused.  “Well, it wasn’t really once upon a time,” she amended, her face apologetic.  “It was about 1500 years ago.  So, about 1500 years ago,” she began again, her voice dramatic, “there was this great  samurai , called Koga Takuza.  Apparently, he was the greatest  samurai  in all of Japan, and some say he was the greatest  samurai  to ever have lived.” 

 

At the name of his ancestor, Saki’s ears perked up.  He was prepared for another awfully boring tale of the House Asakami’s history, and pleasantly surprised at the mention of the name Koga Takuza.  Nikka looked at him as she would as if she were telling a small child a bedtime story, only she looked up at him instead of down at him.  

 

“He was so great,” she said, “that he had an entire army of warriors, and all of their families following him, and he founded his own clan, The Foot.”  She nodded her head, as if she knew something he didn’t.

 

He smiled before he knew he was smiling.   To her, he was the sensei, here to train men and women in  ninjutsu .  Asakami Miyabi had not told her who he was, he realized! 

 

She glanced at him, and seeing his smile, her cheeks began to turn red.  “Anyway, back to the story.  Koga Takuza had a sister, Tamayori.”  He had nodded, more to himself than to her.  He knew this.  “Just was Takuza was the greatest of  samurai , so Tamayori, his sister, was the greatest of  geijutsuka .”  That, he did not know. “ Apparently, he loved her very, very much.  Some say he loved her more than he loved even his wife and children.  Whenever Koga Takuza defeated an enemy, he would take something of theirs.  No one could defeat him, and soon he had so many tokens he didn’t know what to do with them all.  He took the ones made of metal, and forged them into a helmet, which he called The Kuro Kabuto, which has been lost these many centuries in the sands of time.”  Her voice was wafty as she spoke, and she swayed with the words, an amused smile on her face.

 

His smile of amusement had nothing to do with her words, but with the irony with which she was relaying them.  What would she think, how would the story change, if she knew who her audience was?

 

“He sent many of the tokens to his sister, so that she was very rich in her own right.   She became engaged to marry this nobleman.   Well,” she drew the word out, “Takuza’s best friend had been in love with Tamayori for years and years, and really didn’t want her to marry this nobleman.  So, he told Takuza about it, how he did not already know about, I don’t know”  Nikka shook her head.  “Takuza did not think that the noble was worthy enough for his sister, so he came home from one of his adventures, of which there are many, and kills off the fiance, so he can’t marry Tamayori.”

 

Saki himself did not know of the many adventures of Koga Takuza.  He knew of a few, but would hardly call them many.  How many did Nikka know, he wondered?  And why had Miyabi not told him these stories instead of the boring ones she told him?

 

“Obviously,” Nikka explained, “that did not go over very well with the finace’s family, so they came to attack.  Needless to say, Takuza managed to crush them all with his pinky finger, because no one was a match for him, and he beat everybody’s butts into the ground.”

 

Her way of storytelling was a great deal different than Miyabi’s.  He wondered if this was how she narrated her lessons, or if it was only in telling a story to a person who did not yet know the material.

 

“During the fighting, which took a long time, Takuza had Tamayori brought here to Sado and built her this estate, to keep her safe from the dead fiance’s family.  He even built the village in the valley below, as sort of a gateway.  If they didn’t know who the person was, they couldn’t go up with road.  Apparently he did not think about people getting to the estate from the mountains,” Nikka had a dubious look on her face as she pointed to either side of them, indicating the mountains that sheltered the valley in which the Estate was nestled, “because people must not have climbed over mountains back then, but that is another story.  So, at this point, Tamayori is up here in the forest, in her beautiful house, with all of her riches and servants, and probably really lonely.”

 

Saki had not noticed before that Nikka was quite the chatterbox.  She spoke quickly, and the more she talked, the faster and more dramatic her speech came.  She was speaking in English, she’d switched to it when she began the story, and he was surprised she didn’t faint from lack of air.  

 

“Now you’d think, with all this fighting going on, and the best friend being in love with Tamayori, that Takuza would have them get married and just solve the whole problem of his sister being kidnapped.  But no, apparently the best friend was not worthy of his sister either.”  She looked at Saki skeptically.  “I don’t think anyone would have been worthy enough in his eyes, to be honest with you, which is kind of creepy, if you ask me.”

 

Saki opened his mouth to say something, but she held her hand up, and spoke before he could.

 

“But it gets creepier!” she exclaimed.  Then, as if she were letting loose a juicy bit of gossip, she said, “The best friend was, it would seem, a scumbag, because he came up here, and of course, the village people all knew who he was.  So he marches up the road, through the paths in the forest, to the house.  Of course, the servants let him in, because they know who he is, too.”  Her voice was very animated at this point, and her changes to present tense did not escape him.  “So he comes in the house, and he rapes Tamayori.  Some say,” she nodded sagely, “depending on where you read the story, she was not wholly unwilling in her amorous meetings with him.  Either way, she ends up pregnant.  Obviously, not a good thing.”

 

Did she just say, amorous meetings?  Where did she pick that up?  Reading romance novels or something?

 

“Takuza finds out she’s pregnant, somehow, in that magical way that all ancient heroes that are on another island fighting wars know things, and comes to Sado to confront the evil man who did this to his sister, only to find out, it is his best friend.”  Saki was waiting for her to say, ‘dun-dun-dun’, but she didn’t.  She just went on with the story.  “Takuza was livid.  So, to make sure his sister is not dishonored, he makes the best friend marry her, which is what the best friend wanted in the first place.  They have this wonderful wedding, there is lots of revelry, and then the bridal couple go to consummate their marriage.  I am not sure why it is so necessary to consummate the marriage when they’ve obviously consummated something, but that is how the story goes.”

 

Consummate the marriage?  Really?  His smile now was from pure amusement at her language.

 

“This is the really creepy part.  While the marriage is being consummated,” her speech slowed down, and she raised her eyebrows, “Takuza goes into the bridal chamber, and while the best friend is on top of his sister, chops off his head!”  She swung her arm in an arch in a pantomime of head-chopping, her voice loud and triumphant.  “That,” she said emphatically, “is super-creepy, when you think about it.”  She shivered squeamishly.  “To make sure no one else would ever get to his sister, he conjured up  yokai , because all great heros somehow miraculously know how to conjure things like that up,  to roam the forest and make sure no one could get through to his sister’s mansion.  Again, the thought of people coming over the mountain didn’t seem to cross his mind.”

 

Saki stamped down annoyance at Nikka’s pointing out, for the second time, a fault in Koga Tazuka’s plan.

 

“So, Tamayori gave birth to a healthy baby boy, her successor, and lived the rest of her life here in the mountains.  Needless to say,” Nikka shook her head sadly, “she never remarried.  Of course, I don’t know if anyone would offer after what happened to husband number one.”

 

Saki did not say anything.

 

“The  yokai  didn’t go away when she died,” she said after a moment.  They turned a corner, and the bare ruins of a shelter emerged in a clearing, with an elaborate garden all about it, as if it were still there.  An ornate wooden box lay to the edge of the clearing near the forest.  Nikka stopped and looked at it, and dropped her shoulders again.  “Once a year, everyone in the house as to do something to upkeep the forest to appease the  yokai .”

 

“What does that have to do with us being here for a month?” Saki asked in Japanese.

 

“The higher up on the totem pole you are,” Nikka still said in English, “the longer you have to stay.”  She sighed unhappily.  “You should be honored, Oroku Saki.  A month is the same amount Miyabi-shishou has to tend the forest.  You’re pretty high up on the totem pole.”  She walked toward the ornate box and opened it.

 

Following her, he saw it was filled with gardening implements.  “Do all of Miyabi’s students have to work for a month, like you?” he asked, remembering her classmates words to her as they crossed the courtyard.

 

Nikka shook her head.  “Just me,” she said quietly.  “Raiku has to work for three weeks.  Everyone else just gets two.”  She looked up at him, “Your students will probably only get a week or two of work.”  She reached in her pocket, and took out a little monkey statue, and placed it on the ground on the far side of the box, looking out into the forest.

 

Getting his own gardening things, Saki asked, “You need that?”

 

She shot him a nasty look, and walked toward the ruins.  “I do not need that,” she said haughtily.  “I want it.”

 

“Because the  yokai  will jump out at you as you pull weeds?”  Smugness snuggled up his chest, and he smiled and opened his eyes wide in an approximation of surprise.

 

“They aren’t all…” she shook her head and bent down to begin her task.

 

“All what?” he asked, sinking down beside her.  

 

She did not look up at him, but her cheeks were red once again.  Again, she said nothing.

 

She’d fallen into a sullen silence after that, and would start occasionally at sounds being made in the woods.  They were obvious sounds, animals moving through the leaves, things jumping or landing from tree to tree.  She tended the dark soiled garden methodically.

 

Saki could not help himself, after one of her surreptitious looks into the trees.  With skill that was now not even second nature, but a part of his being, he slipped off one of his gloves, and brought his fingers to the back of her head.  Her hair was in a plait, to keep it out of her face while working, exposing all of her long neck.  With a speed he knew she couldn’t detect, he brushed the tips of his fingers over her hairline, and then brought hand back down to his side.

 

She gasped and bolted upright, grabbing her neck as if she’d been shot, her eyes as wide as saucers.  She flung herself around, and seeing nothing, she had turned to him.  The superior grin on his face gave him away, and her face twisted from surprised terror to anger.  She punched him in the arm, in a way she probably thought was hard, but to him was nothing, and said, “That’s not funny, Saki!”   Her words were all in English, she even butchered his name.

 

He had laughed outright, the look on her face had been priceless.  He threw his head back, hearing his own laughter echo through the forest.  He stopped when another noise came to his ears.  

 

“Sa-ki…” said a voice that was neither his nor Nikka’s.  “Not...funny….”

  
  
  


  
  
  
  



	10. Chapter 10

The color drained from Nikka’s face, “See what you’ve done?!” she cried, punching him again.

 

He didn’t even notice the punch.

 

“Be-ro-ni-ka…” the same voice toned, “...what...you...have...done...”

 

The girl had lifted her hand trowel and brandished it like a weapon in front of her, her head darting from place to place to try and catch where the voice was coming from.

 

“This is not amusing,” Saki said, his voice harsh, but his heart thumping in his chest.  He put down his spade, and peeled off his other glove.  “Scaring the girl in such a way is not--”

 

“Scaring the girl?” the voice cut Saki off.  It was stronger now, more clear, not just carried on the air.  “Do I not scare you?”

 

“Voices coming from forests do not scare me,” he spat out.  He relaxed his muscles, observed the thoughts going through his mind, and let them pass, and listened.

 

Nikka’s breath seemed to be almost hyperventilating.  The wind moved the leaves of the forest trees about them.  The animals made so sound at all, as if they had all disappeared from this place, transported to another.

 

Then, soundlessly, a little creature came out from the forest,  It was red, bordering on orange, a squat, muscled thing, with broad shoulders and a wide head.  Two tusks jutted out of its mouth, a slit so long that looked like the top half of its head would fall off if it opened it.  It wore nothing but a tiger loincloth, and the thatch of black hair on its head shook slightly in thing.  “Voices do not scare you, Sa-ki…?” it said, its tongue lolling out of its mouth as it spoke.

 

The thoughtless space in his mind disappeared, and filled, like a glass with water, with chatter.  What the hell was he looking at?  It was a demon.  They were going to be cursed.  He was already cursed, driven from the woman he loved, rejected by the only family had ever known, discovered his birth family had been annihilated by his own father-of-his-heart’s hand, wandered to this estate with a bunch of country bumpkins, only to be cursed again by a demon coming out of the Asakami forest.  He heard Nikka take in a breath, and saw her, from the corner of his eyes, open her mouth wide.  Action took hold of him, as it always did, as it was trained to do, it was what made him great.  He was great, the thought rallied him, pushed the chattering thoughts out of his mind, and this little oni would not get the better of him.  He grabbed Nikka around the head, clamping his hand over her mouth, and crushing her against his chest.  “Silence,” he hissed in her ear.

 

“Little oni?” the creature said, taking a step forward.  As it did so, it began to grow, each step making it at least a foot bigger, until the thing towered over the two of them, at least as tall as Saki himself when the man was standing.  

 

The damned thing could read thoughts?  He pulled Nikka into him, and she let out a huff of air, before he realized how hard he was holding her.  “Relax your body,” he whispered to her, a reminder to both of them.  As he released the tension in his own, he felt her comply against him.  He felt her mouth close against his hand, the silent scream she’d been holding in disappaiting.  He felt the thoughts of fear, of “How am I going to deal with this thing?” try to rush into his mind, so he saw it, and let it rush out

 

“He holds the mouth of the secret keeper,” said the demon, stopping on the other opposite side of the ornate box, stepping over the little monkey statue, “like he can keep the secrets in.”

 

He glanced down at Nikka, whose countenance seemed to have calmed considerably.  He took his hand from her mouth, and while she did not scream, neither she move from against him.  Her back still pressed into his stomach, and her head lay on his chest.  A moment later, she leaned up, her head leaving his body, but her back still staying against him.  She looked up at the oni, and said with the same calm assurance she had spoken to him on the training field, “I have told no secrets.”

 

“Will you tell secrets, Sa-ki?” it asked, tilting its grotesque head to the side.

 

Nikka looked around at Saki, in his eyes, and he saw his own face reflected in them.  Her blue orbs were filled with fear, that she was trying to cover up, and he saw that his own were no different.  

 

The demon laughed.

 

Saki felt Nikka tense against him, and in a fluid motion, stood up, pulling her with him, his arm about her waist.  As he stood, the oni grew in comparison, so that he still had to look up at it, a taunting look on his face, as if to say “Little oni?” once again.  “You know nothing of the secrets I must keep,” he said defiantly, hurt frothing in his gut, the heat of the girl in front of him only making him feel it more.    He would not be cowed by some forest demon, here in the middle of nowhere.

 

The creature laughed again, and tilted his head to other side.  “You know nothing of the secrets  I  keep,” it said, leaning down as a mother does when speaking to her child.  “You can know nothing of the secrets I keep…”

 

“Then tell us a secret,” Nikka said, stepping away from Saki and toward the creature.  “If you are so full of secrets, release one of them.”

 

Its laugh boomed through the clearing, hitting the ruins and bouncing back at them from every direction.  She backed up against him, and it took all of his emotional reserves not to grab the girl in front of him and bolt from the place.  Saki felt a wave of nausea come over him, as if he were spinning.  As the sound of its laugh faded, it disappeared, the sounds of the forest replacing the silence that preceded the creatures coming.

 

Nikka turned around to look at, and for a long moment, they were both still, simply staring at each other.  Then she ripped off of her gloves, and ran toward the path that lead out of the forest.  He was just behind her, and easily overtook her, grabbing her hand, and literally dragging her down the paths until the forest broke to the more structured landscaping of the Estate proper.

 

The girl had fallen to her knees, and was breathing heavily.  Once she caught her breath, she looked up at him angrily, “See what you did?!” she threw her arm in the direction of the forest they’d just emerged from.  “We have to spend a month in there!”

 

“It didn’t do anything,” she said sulkily, reaching his hand out to help her up.  She took it, and he hauled her to her feet.  “All it did was talk.”

 

She glared at him, and then back at the forest.  The look on her face contorted to one of despair.

 

The look stabbed at him.  He knew that feeling, it was still so new.  It still tugged at him, especially in the dead of night, when everything was quiet, and the darkness could let loose the monsters that she held to her bosom.  He had even taken to meditating in the night, alone in the darkness, to keep the despair at bay. Despair at what he would do now.  Despair at what he would become.  Despair at the lies he’d been told all of his life,  that he now had to unravel and do something with.  And now, to add to it, despair at an oni in a backwoods forest bragging about secrets.

 

No!  No, he would  not be cowed by this thing.  It may be supernatural, it may be beyond his reach now, but he would not be cowed by it.  Heros in the past had defeated them, had brought them to bare, had...he gasped.  He looked down at Nikka, who quickly looked toward the forest.  

 

Seeing nothing, she looked back at him, the despair having turned to fear.  “What?”

 

Heroes in the past had brought them to their knees, in servitude.

 

The world seemed to become brighter to Saki at that moment, all the colors around him were an intense shade, shining at him in a new array of tones that needed new names, because the names they were given were not enough to describe them.  “Come,” he grabbed Nikka’s arm, and began to drag her toward the Estate proper.  “We need to pray.”

 

“Pray?” she asked, trying to wrench her arm away.  He let go of her, and she straightened herself up indignantly.  “Where?  If we go back to the house, Miyabi-shishou will know we aren’t in the forest and will have both of our hides.”

 

He thought for a moment, “The dojo,” he said.  “None of my disciples will tell Miyabi we are there.  And they will keep everyone else out.”

 

“What are we going to pray for?” she asked, having to rush to keep up with his quick, long strides.  “That we don’t see any others?  Two is quite enough for me.”

 

He stopped and turned on her.  She halted quickly so she wouldn’t ram in to him.  “What do you mean, two is enough for you?  You’ve seen another one?”

 

She, again, turned bright red, starting at her shirt line, and it creeping up to her hairline.  How was this girl supposed to be a spy if she couldn’t keep her emotions under control.  “That’s the reason all the others were saying those things this morning,” she said.  “Because of last year…” The look on her face was filled with shame.

 

“One came to you last year?” he insisted.

 

She nodded slowly, “Two people died in the forest in the same month,” she said.

 

He held his hand up for her not to speak anymore.

 

Her shamefaced look turned to anger, and she swatted at his arm.  He easily moved it out of the way, so she missed.  “Don’t you dismiss me like that,” she almost hissed.  

 

His own look probably reflected her back.  He grabbed her arm, and began dragging her in the direction of the dojo.  “Hush!” he told her.  She resisted, but it was nothing, like a tiny animal on a leash that thought it might have a chance of escape.  Even if she used her entire weight, it would not have made any difference, she did not have anywhere near enough strength to break his grasp.  Her struggles were not even strong enough to give him a sense of pride in his physical prowess.

 

“Stop it!” her voice rising with each world.

 

He stopped his forward stride, and bent down his face was in hers.  “Silence,” he said calmly, his deep voice penetrating through her resentment at his rough treatment, “until we get to the dojo.”

 

“You don’t have to drag me,” she said, her own voice calming, she leaned a little forward in a display of challenge.  ‘I am not afraid of you,’ it said, and Saki knew it was a lie.

 

He let her go, almost throwing her arm back to her, and began walking again.  She kept up with him, at his side, not behind him as if he were leading, and he had to lengthen his strides and quicken his steps to keep her a little behind him.  

 

When he got to the dojo, he commanded, “Out!”, and in a moment, the place was empty.  He walked, without stopping, to the  kamidama , and sank down before it.  He thought he was going to have to drag Nikka down with him, he vision of the white girl tricking him for a moment into ignorance.  But she sank down beside him, and looked up at it.

 

“You have seen another one of the  yokai  in the forest?” he asked again.

 

She nodded, not looking at him.  “It was a different one than that one.”

 

He took her chin in his hand and moved her head toward him, so she had to look at him.  Her eyes really were quite blue, he realized, like the sky on a summer day.  He was a silent for a moment as he studied her, and he noticed she also studied him.  He leaned down, so his face was closer to hers, and said calmly, “It told you a secret.”

 

Her face was impassive for a moment, not showing any emotion whatsoever, not even in her eyes.  Few were capable of that with him, his imposing presence drew out what they were feeling.  The girl gave no indication of the fear, or anger, or indignation that she had shown only a little while before.   Ah , he realized.   The little geijutsuka.  She slowly nodded, her face still unreadable.

 

“What did it tell you?” he asked.

 

“I’m not telling you what it told me,” she said in the calm, assertive voice she used on those she was trying to persuade.

 

“You cannot use The Art on me, girl,” he said.  “Even Miyabi cannot use The Art on me.”

 

The inscrutable look in her eyes became thoughtful, “I am not girl,” she said firmly.

 

He smiled smugly, this young one had a lot of spice to her.  “You cannot use The Art on me, Nikka,” he corrected.

 

“I will not tell you what secret it told me,” she said, again, the tone of her guile gone.  “I told it I kept my secrets, and I meant it.”

 

He regarded her for another moment, and then nodded.  Yes, that is how it should be.  There was no need to breach any growing trust, to put his plan in any kind of danger because he was impatient.  She would tell him eventually, he needed only to wait.  And he could wait.  “What happened?” he took a different tact.

 

“I was walking by myself to the Misty Garden, where I was working, and a  yokai  came out and began to make fun of me.”   
  
“Make fun of you?” that was not what he expected.

 

She nodded.  “It wasn’t very good at it, really.  He said I had a big nose, and big ears, and I was ugly and had a little chest, and no man would want me, and stuff like that.”  She shrugged.

 

“That frightened you?” he shook his head, confused.

 

“No,” she said.  “What frightened me is when it started throwing things at me, and they hurt!  Big things. Like rocks I wouldn’t be able to lift.”  He waited for her to continue.  “He was taunting me at the same time, and I tried to remember all of the stories about  yokai  that I could remember, and I remembered one where a beggar boy taunted the  yokai  back.  So that’s what I did.”

 

“While you dodged what it was throwing at you?” he asked suspiciously.

 

“Yes,” she replied.  “Then it laughed at me, and asked me if I wanted to know a secret.  So I said yes.”

 

“Why did you say yes?”

 

“Because an  oni  was going to tell me a secret!” she said as if he was an idiot.  “Who doesn’t know what secret one of them has?”  After a moment, she pouted.  “You would have said yes.”

 

“Indeed, I would have.”

 

She seemed surprised at his answer, and the pout disappeared.  “So, whom are we praying to for protection?”

 

“How do you know it is protection we are praying for?” he asked.

 

“What else would we be praying for?”

 

Again, he was silent.  He wasn’t sure yet, what else to pray for.  However, protection would probably not be a bad thing.  “I have to meditate on it.”

 

“Now?” she asked.  She didn’t sound happy about it.

 

He wanted bop her on the back of the head, and say, “Yes, now!”  But now was not the time to contemplate this in that way.  He would do it tonight, alone, to keep the despair at bay, when he would not be disturbed.  “No, not now.  We will pray for protection and guidance.”

 

“To whom?”

 

“Koga Takuza.”  His ancestor would protect him, it was his ancestor who guided him.  He could see, since he’d been here at House Asakami, that he had been guiding him all of his life, down the path of his destiny, an unseen hand always on his shoulder.  

 

“Why him?” she asked.  “Shouldn’t we be asking Koga Tamayori?  She’s the one whose here.”

 

“He is also,” Saki said assuredly.

 

“How do you know?” She had a sassy tone to her voice.  “Has he visited you?”

 

“Yes,” he ground out.

 

Her face changed.  She raised her eyebrows.  “Oh.”

 

“Who else has visited you,” he asked, lead on by her simple answer, “besides  yokai  of the forest?”

 

She was quiet a moment, and reached to take a candle.  “The ancestors are to good us.”  She looked to him again, in the eyes, her face honest, and unsure.  “They are good to  us. ”

 

So they had implored, and lit their candles and incense.  “Now,” said Saki, turning to her bodily on his knees.  “Tell me everything you know about the  yokai  in that forest.”   

 

She turned herself toward him, her knees almost touching his, but not quite, and put her hands on her thighs as he did.  The movement seemed natural, perhaps Miyabi had her students in a sitting practice.

 

The sun moved through the sky as they talked, exchanging stories of supernatural beings, of how great heroes and heroines had killed them, tricked them, beguiled them, trapped them, and in other ways defeated them.  One of his disciples brought them food, and they ate absently as they talked, absorbed in their conversation.  He was shocked at the amount of lore the girl knew.  His shock was utter at her insight into the characters of the stories the two of them told each other, surmising the thoughts of people who may or may not have even existed with an ease that amazed him.  Her interjections into the particular folktale he would be remembering  were gentle, not at all like how she spoke to Miyabi, or to her fellow students, or to him when he’d taken her to the training grounds or in the forest.  Her eyes and her voice were soft and thoughtful.  When she talked, she did not sound like a girl at all.  She laughed at one point, a sweet laugh, that grabbed at his throat, she sounded so much like Tang Shen.  Her look was the same, not in her features, but rather her mannerisms, she was, attentive and honest, her head tilted to the side, a tender smile on her face.  It might have been his lost beloved sitting there, in the body of this white almost-woman, intelligent and gentle and kind.  It was that kindness that had allowed Hamato Yoshi to lead her away, to seduce her into his brother and best friend’s arms and out of his own.   But Hamato Yoshi was not here to seduce anyone away from him, not his disciples, not his friends, not his patroness, not this almost-woman before him.  He was in control of what was around him.  What he did not yet control, he would take control of, starting with a ghost in a the forest.  

 

The Shredder let the memory fade, like the light that had faded as they had walked back, over the little bridge crossing the creek from the  dojo  to the main house for supper.  The statues of the  oni looked down on him in his meditation chamber here in NYC, each holding their hands out before them in offering.    He got up, to go to his  dojo, his own  dojo , to start his morning practice.


	11. Chapter 11

Nikka sprayed the brick wall in front of her, a swath of yellow paint now marring the previously blank wall of the apartment complex.  Shady characters walked by, peeking in on the busty bleach blonde tagging the building.  But upon seeing Hun, Tsoi, and Sid loitering near by deeper in the alley, they kept on walking.  She was smiling broadly, she could see the people out of the corner of her eye as she tried to concentrate on her artwork.   She’d decided on an urban beautification image, a light vigilante statement made in the Lower East Side.  The image she was creating was an ocean, filled with froth and waves.  In each breaker was the likeness of a person or animal, being put together in one of those earthy “We Are All One” type images.  She made sure to keep her head back from the spray paint, keeping her arm fully extended and use long, broad strokes.  While she wore a crocheted paperboy cap, if she got any of the paint into her wig, it would be murder to get out.  The messy shoulder length hairstyle did not lend itself to easy cleaning.

 She’d had fun shopping for this role, it had been a long time since she’d played the part of someone other than Veronika Heathcock, the symphony musician.  After speaking with everyone, which wasn’t very many people, she’d come up with a schematic for the leading lady in this little portrayal.  It was like coming up with a monologue for a talent show, she needed a persona, she needed a costume, she needed a role.  It had been an even longer time since she’d played the part of someone so young, most of her career, when not being ‘herself’, she’d been attempting to portray someone older than she actually was.   

 She was able to comb pawn shops, and thrift stores, and five and dimes, and street vendors.  She’d been able to pick up a new wardrobe and new shoes.  Oh, she loved new shoes!  And a new phone and the wig.  Oh, she loved wigs!  She even loved the heads that one rested their wigs on.  And contact lenses.  She loved contact lenses!  And all of the accessories for the role.  She especially liked trying out the spray paints she would use.  Tagging was a new experience for her, she’d never done it before.  She had to admit, it was fun.

 Her assessment of Casey Jones, based on the information she’d gathered, was a classic case of ‘out to prove something’.  He was rash. He was cocky.  He tried to be witty and failed.  He was missing his front teeth, she’d been told, which meant girls were probably not knocking on his door.  That would mean he’d have a bit of a beauty complex, which would make him unsure of how to deal with a woman.  He played hockey, a sport not known for its intelligent players.  Still being in school, that would give him the feeling of being stupid compared to his peers, something that may be fostered at home, which would lend to his ‘out to prove something’ attitude.  By the sound of the quips he gave his enemies, and the ways he fought, he was still raging with testosterone.  Of course, he’d be raging with testosterone even if he wasn’t out to prove anything, he was a high school boy, after all.  She giggled to herself as she rummaged through the canvas backsack to change paint can colors.  Beside it was an old guitar, bought for $20 at a pawn shop, and six pack of Coca Cola.  Being a teenage boy with raging hormones would make things so much easier.

 Oh, she hoped it was a challenge!  She didn’t get her hopes up, though.  This was only a little talent show after all, not a full out play.  She’d gotten men who were considered world players in business to hand their empires over to Oroku Industries, to give unheard of donations to the symphonies and orchestras of the cities in which they lived.  A boy who played at being a defender of the justice would be nothing at all.

 “He’s coming,” Hun said, gesturing for Tsoi and Sid to move from the alley into the light.  Fong came running from the road into the alley.

 Nikka bit the right side of her bottom lip and smiled.  WIth a raised eyebrow she said, “Quiet boys.  The show’s about to start.”

 

#

 

Casey skated on the rim of the building’s roof, feeling the air in his hair as it blew through the mask he had up over it.  The night was dark and slowly growing cooler, and had been quiet so far.  

 

Then, he heard a woman scream.

 

“Oh yeah,” he pumped a fist in to the air.  “TIme to smash some street scum.”

 The scream came again, it was close by.  Below him, in between two buildings, he could a woman being pulled about by a trio of men.

“The Purple Dragons,” he seethed, “shoulda’ known.”

 Casey came down from the roof top, sliding the banister of the fire escape, to land on the street in front of the young woman and the three members of the Purple Dragons that were obviously having a night on the town.  “You know,” he said.  “It isn’t nice to beat up a lady.”

“Who said we were trying to beat her up,” said Tsoi, letting her go and turning to Casey.  “Maybe we’re doing something else.”

The woman took advantage being free from one of her assailants, and brought a combat boot clad foot up to kick Tsoi in the butt.  Oh, thought Casey, she’s got some spunk.

The man surged forward, a look of complete surprise on his face.  He was easy to dispatch with a whack  to the face with a hockey stick.  Casey then turned to the other two, they still had their hands grasped tightly on the woman’s arms.  “Let her go,” he said in a menacing voice.

Sid pushed her forward, and she rammed into the youth, her arms out in front of her, knocking them both down.  Casey bounced back up as fast as he could, but all three criminals were now gone.  That was easy, he shrugged the thought away.  Guess the little lady was more than they bargained for.   He held a hand out to help her up, and she took it with a grateful smile.  “What are you doing out here at this time of night?” he asked.

She dusted herself off and took a deep breath.  She had bleach blonde hair, the kind that no one has in real life and can only come out of a bottle, with a black paperboy cap on her head.  She readjusted the oversized flannel shirt she was wearing open, revealing a teal tank top with black bra straps peeking out at the shoulders.    Her cut off denim shorts showed off a good bit of nicely shaped leg, which ended in teal socks and black combat boots.  She gestured to the wall behind him. “Urban beautification,” she said in a slight Italian Brooklyn accent.  

He turned and examined the partially finished painting.  “You got some skills,” he said, turning back to her.  “I’m Casey Jones,” he said in his suavest voice.

“I’m Alice DeNapoli,” she held her hand out to shake his.  She smiled and it made her warm, light brown eyes light up.  She had on heavy make up, with cat’s eye thick eyeliner, and teal eyeshadow.  “So what are you doing out at this time of night.”

“Keepin’ the streets safe,” he looked at his knuckles proudly.  “So people like you can enjoy the act of beautifying the city at,” he looked at his watch, “1:36 in the morning.”

She laughed.  It had an edge to it, the kind that he liked.  “Well, when your boyfriend dumps you at 11 in the evening, it takes a while to gather up your stuff and drown your sorrows in paint fumes and sugar,” she gestured to the bag and the six pack of Cokes.   She looked him up and down dubiously, and with a wide smile said, “You like hockey, huh?”

“Love it,” he posed, drawing his stick from his back.  “Best on my team at school.”  He put the stick back with a flourish.  

“What school do you go to?” she asked, picking up her canvas backsack.

“Roosevelt High,” he told her, some of his bravado fading.  He wasn’t sure how old she was, and for some reason, didn’t want to her think of him as too young.  He was out crime fighting after all, he wasn’t some kid, just because he was still in high school.

“I remember them,” she said, picking up her guitar in one hand, and the six pack of Coke in the other.  “They always had a pretty good hockey team.”

“Now, it’s a great hockey team.”  He rubbed the back of his neck, and asked uncertainly, “Where did you go to school?”  He was pretty sure it was a did.  She looked too old to be in high school, but even he couldn’t tell sometimes.

“I went to Bellvard,” she said.

He nodded, recognizing the name.  “When did you graduate?”

She got a sneaky smile on her face, but her pale brown eyes still sparkled.  She tilted her head to the side and asked, “When you do think I graduated?”

He was confused for a moment, nothing coming to his mind as tried to concentrate on the question.  He knew there was a moment of silence in the conversation that lasted too long, before he came up with an answer.  Think, Jones!  How old does she look?  “Five years ago?” his voice cracked when he spoke, and he cleared his throat.

She looked delightedly surprised, “You’re a good guesser!” she exclaimed.

He shrugged, a smug smile on his face, and looked over to the side.  He felt pride work its way up through his chest to his arms.

“Hey,” her voice was soft, and little uncertain, and she bit her lip nervously.  He felt a shiver go up his spine at the movement.  He loved a lip bite with a shy look, it was like a girl was trying to be sweet and sexy at the same time.  “You wanna drown my sorrows with me in some music and sugar?”  She held up the Cokes in her hand.  “I think I’ve had enough of paint fumes for the night.”

He smiled widely, “Sure!”  He held his hand out to take something from her to lighten her load.  The guitar, he hoped.  She handed him the Cokes, of course she wouldn’t hand him the guitar.  Nobody handed strangers guitars.  “Where were you headed?” he asked.

“I have a little place in an old apartment building,” she said.  “It’s falling apart, but I love the ambiance of it.  It’s great for writing songs.”

“You write your own songs?  Cool!”  This girl was getting better and better.

“Just up here,” and she pointed to a building with a big “condemned” sign on it.  “I’m working on a record,” she said, “I’ve got three of the songs done so far.  I’m saving up money to pay for the recording studio to get some demo CDs made.”  She opened the door to the apartments, and rolled her eyes.  “It is expensive!”

Casey looked around, a worried look on his face.  “You sure this isn’t going to come crashing down on us?”

She shook her head, “Nah,” she told him, her accent thick with the one word.  “I’ve been coming here since before I graduated high school.”

The interior of the bottom floor had been gutted of all the walls, save the loadbearing ones.  It was difficult to see where the apartments might have once been separated, except for remains of several toilets.  Someone had come through and smashed all of the porcelain thrones at one point.  Smack in the middle of the space, was a bean bag, and three overturned crates around what was obviously a home made firepit.  The fire pit was a circle of cement, all of it charred from the flames that had been in it at one point.

“You can have the bean bag,” she said, gesturing to the chair.  

“Thanks,” he plopped down into it.  Dust rose from it, and he coughed.

“You might want to shake it out,” she told him, putting her things down near a crate.  “There might be some things living it.

He jumped up and turned, staring at the chair.  “Things living it?!” he exclaimed.  “Like what?”  Great going, Casey, he told himself as soon as he’d done it.  You look like an idiot.  What vigilante jumps up from a bean bag?

Alice laughed, but it wasn’t a derisive laugh, he was relieved at that.  She seemed like an alright chick.  He got a good feeling from her, that sassy and sweet feeling all in one.  “Bugs,” she said, coming over to the bean bag and grabbing it by the sides.  “Or spiders, or rats.”  She shook it hard, turning her head to the side to keep the dust from getting in her eyes.  She plopped it back down, and laughed again.  “There we go.”

Casey let an exaggerated shiver go down his body.  “Ech,” he said.  “I hate rats.”

“You do?” Alice seemed surprised.  “Why in the world would you be hate of rats?  They don’t do anything.”

“They’re creepy,” he said.  “And they sneak up on you when you’re not looking and grab you.”

She raised her eyebrows as she handed him a Coke can.  “They grab you?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Crap, shut up, Casey!  “With their...uh….little hands.”

“I think they’re called paws,” she smiled at him again.

Change the subject, grubnub.  “So, you come here with your friends?” he asked, looking around.  

“Only a select few,” she said.  “Most of them are off doing their own thing now, with jobs and stuff.  Being respectable and all that.”

“Respectable?” Casey pftah-ed.  “Who wants to be respectable.”

Alice raised her Coke can, “Exactly!  Respectable people don’t change the world.”

“Damn straight,” he pointed at her emphatically, and drank down his Coke.

 

* * *

Nikka came back to Saki’s, no The Shredder’s, base of operations about two hours before dawn.  She was surprised at how long Casey Jones had lasted.  The kid must be used to staying up all night, how he would be able to function the next day at school, she had no clue whatsoever.  She wouldn’t be doing much functioning tomorrow at all.  She’d be sleeping.

The Foot ninjas guarding the entrance, she couldn’t tell the difference between the robot ones and the human ones yet, moved out of her way to give her entrance.  When they didn’t bow to her, she knew they were the robot ones.  All the human ones better bow when she came by, just because they were of The Foot Clan and not of House Asakami did not mean she would not be treated with the utmost respect.

The place was quiet inside.  She could hear, in the distance, the great fans whirring in Stockman’s lab.  She thought for a moment of going down there, to see Karai, the awful, sickly white snake thing.  She would probably be curled up sleeping, and there was no reason to disturb her, whether she was animal now or not.  Her heart clenched, and she took a deep breath.

She was not surprised to find Miko standing at the door when she entered her rooms.  “Mistress,” the woman said.  “Master Shredder asks for a report immediately upon your return.”

Oh, he would want a report immediately upon her return, wouldn’t he?  Her shoulders drooped.  She was tired, she wanted to go to sleep.  The vision of the bed in the back room of her suite was so comforting, with its pillows and comforter.  She took another deep breath.

Apparently she’d taken too long to respond, for Miko said, “He is in the Throne Room.”

“Not at this hour?” Nikka said.  What did the man do, spend all of his free time in his Throne Room?  That throne didn’t look all that comfortable.  The look on Miko’s face told her that he was, indeed, in the Throne Room.  She sighed, and shook her head.  “Let me get this gunk off of my face, and I will go see him.  He can go to his rooms.  My report is a long one.”

Miko did not move.

“Go,” Nikka made a shooing movement with her hand.

“Master Shredder does not like being told what to do,” Miko said in a strained voice.

“Neither do I,” Nikka’s voice was deadly, the sluggishness she showed previously all gone.  “You will do as I say.  And you will do it now.”

Miko lowered her head slightly, but a defiant look was still on her face.  “Mistress,” she said in a placating tone, “what if he refuses and wants to stay in the Throne Room?”

The contradictory tone and look made Nikka curl her lip.  Her face showed her true feelings, and her voice said something else.  It meant that Miko was a liar, and Nikka did not like liars.  “Then you will come and tell me he is still in the Throne Room,” she said as if she were speaking to a simpleton.  She leaned into Miko’s face, almost touching her nose.  “Go!”

Miko took a step back, and bowed.  “Yes, Mistress.”

She watched her handmaid go, and thought, I am going to have to talk to Chris Bradford about getting me a new handmaid.  She needs to go.

She took the wig off, and placed it on the model head she’d bought for it.  She then washed the thick layer of make off of her face, taking three washings to get it all off.  The light brown contact lenses went into the contact lense cleaner case.  She looked in the mirror, and smiled at her reflection. Ah, she looked like herself again.

Without waiting for Miko to return with The Shredder’s reply, she began her trek to his rooms.

                                                                                        

 


	12. Chapter 12

_A shout out to **Lexifer** for helping me with this chapter.   Go read her stuff.  It rocks.  Like, it rocks your socks off.  Be warned._

***

Oroku Saki lounged in his chair in his rooms, his hand absently stroking the head of Hachiko, still caught in his thoughts from his Throne Room. He had wished Nikka happy hunting when she had set out on her mission this night, and knew that her late arrival back was either a very good thing or a very bad thing. He knew that she and Casey Jones had met up, Hun had reported to him as soon as he’d gotten back. Nikka’s handmaid had come to his Throne Room once she’d returned home…

 

He chuckled. Home, interesting choice of words, Saki.

 

Her handmaid had come to him and with all the deference he was sure the woman could falsely muster, informed him that Mistress Veronika suggested he go to his rooms, her report was a long one. When he stood up and dismissed her with a wave of his hand, heading toward the door, the look of shock on the woman’s face had been very satisfying. They all thought him made of stone, a statue that could not move or be moved. But he was not stone, he was a living mountain, based in stone, but filled with life, and wind, and water. It was all of these things, together, that made him greater than anyone else in his presence. Just because his lowly Foot soldiers did not see the life that lay on the mountain, did not mean it did not exist. It only meant they did not understand the meaning of power, which was why they were only Foot soldiers, and not something more.

 

Hachiko tilted his head slightly to have Saki’s fingers find an itchy spot behind one of his ears.

 

He could feel her presence as she came toward his door, and then he could hear the light clomp of boots, then the rustle of clothes, then the click of the doorknob turning. Her head poked in the crack that slowly emerged, just as it had in the Throne Room the other night, a delighted smile on her face.

 

He stood up from his chair as she entered. “Your night went well, I take it?” he threw her previous question back at her.

 

She fully emerged, and closed the door behind her. She was wearing an awful costume to make her look like a grunge rock band groupie. Who knows what her hair and face had looked like. He could tell she must have been made up in some fashion, her face was free of makeup and her hair was still parted in three sections, indicating she’d put it up to wear a wig.

 

“It went fabulously!” she said quietly, before looking down and seeing the dog at Saki’s side. “Oh, hello you,” she bent down and stretched her hand out to him, but the dog didn’t move. “Where have you been hiding?” The dog remained at Saki’s side. She looked up at him with an annoyed smirk, and then snapped her fingers and said, “Hachiko, come!”

 

The dog’s tail immediately began wagging, and it padded over to her. She began to rub his fuzzy neck vigorously.

 

“Where have you been keeping him, Saki? I didn’t know you’d brought him with you.”

 

“In his kennel,” he said, walking over to her.

 

“He’s been here the whole time, and I haven’t seen him?” She turned to Hachiko, and in a baby voice said, “Has de mean ole’ daddy been keeping you locked up? Poor baby!”

 

Saki scowled, but said nothing.

 

She kissed the dog on the top of his head. “Oh,” she looked up at him, “I spoke with Miyabi-shishou today. She says hello.”

 

“And how is Asakami Miyabi?” he asked.

 

“She seems fine. Every time I talk with her, she seems a little older.” Frankly, it worried Nikka. It seemed that her life was ebbing from her too quickly. She seemed more frail and weak every time she saw her on the phone, which was at the very least once a week, usually more.

 

“She is a little older,” he said simply.

 

She pouted, and kept her eyes on Hachiko. “You know what I mean.”

 

He wondered what Nikka would be expecting. The woman was ancient. She was old when he had met her, and Nikka had not come to her but a few short years before that. The fact that she was still alive at all was quite an accomplishment in and of itself. “Tell me about your successful night,” he said.

 

She stood up, the delighted smile back on her face. “We had an excellent start tonight,” she told him, “I wouldn’t doubt he doesn’t tell me all about the Turtles and Hamato before long.”

 

He motioned her to a seat, and sat down across from her, and poured her a glass of water. “What did he tell you tonight?” Hachiko came back to his side, and again, he let his fingers gently caress the dog’s head.

 

Nikka suppressed a smile, and while pouring him his glass of water, she looked him up and down again. He was wearing that black spandex stuff that he wore under his armor, which left so little to the imagination. And one did not need an imagination to see what lie underneath it was magnificently built. But then, he’d always been magnificently built. She guessed he must have had to beat the girls away with a stick when he was a teenager. His fingers gently stroked the dog’s head, who seemed to be in heaven from the touch. Despite the eye candy in front of her, she yawned, putting her hands to her mouth. “Pardon me,” she said, before continuing. “He told me that he got in a fight with his best friend, and they hadn’t really made up yet. He likes a girl, but doesn’t know if she likes him. He likes music, and hockey, and he’s an artist. The graffiti kind,” she winked, as she bent slightly to untie her combat boots.

 

Saki raised and eyebrow.

 

She giggled, “Normal stuff that a teenage boy would say in order to impress a pretty girl.” She slid her boot off, and then peeled off the teal sock, revealing a bare foot with pale pink toenails.

 

“Were you impressed?” he asked. He wasn’t sure what the response would be. He was surprised to find himself not sure what he wanted her response to be.

 

She rolled her eyes and let out a huff of air. “He’s so typical, Saki. It’s pathetic.” The smile was gone, replaced with a disgusted curl of her lip. She tugged off her other boot, and peeled that sock off also, tucking the socks in each boot. “Nothing original about him at all.”

 

“That was my assessment,” he agreed.

 

“I figure I will text him for the next month or two, until we meet up again,” she started.

 

“Month or two?” Saki sat up straight, his hand leaving Hachiko’s head.

 

Nikka pursed her lips together, “Yes, a month or two.” Before he could growl out a response, she continued, “Ashton’s birthday is in two days, Greta’s two weeks after that, I have a symphony concert sometime next month, I can’t quite remember the day, and if David won an award, then we’ll have to do the rounds for all the award winning things. He won’t know he’s won an award until the last day of the conference.”

 

He scowled, taking in the woman in front of him.

 

She tilted her head to the side, and clucked her tongue. “Saki,” she drawled, taking out her mobile phone. “I got his phone number,” she sang. “We will be keeping in touch. The bait has been set, I do not intend to take the hook out of the water before the fish bites. Texting, it’s all the rage, you know,” she said with a slight Brooklyn accent. “Us old folks don’t know anything about that kind of thing.”

 

He grunted.

 

She laughed, and shook her head at him. “Oh, Saki, it will be alright. I won’t lose him, I promise.” She got that pretend innocent look on her face, and batted her eyelashes. When his look did not change, she sighed, and shook her head, “I am flying home tomorrow,” she looked at him tired and defeated. “I do not want to fight with you.”

 

He moved his hand in front of him in a conciliatory gesture, bringing it back to Hachiko’s head. It was his plane that was taking her home, and he decided when and where it went.

She stood up, grabbing the laces on her combat boots, a tired smile on her face. “It’s almost morning,” she said, heading toward the door. “I have no idea how you stay up all night, and then stay up all day. There is no way I can do that.”

 

“You’ve never been able to do it,” he told her, getting up also.

 

“And you have always been able to,” she said, turning her head and smiling at him slyly. She stopped walking and looked at him, her mind buzzing for a moment. He was smiling ather, that tiny smile, the only smile he had, half cocked on his scarred face, as if he was in a poker game, revealing his royal flush against everyone else's four of a kind. The look took her by surprise, and the relaxation in her vanished, the fatigue being replaced by a warm tingle. She dropped the combat boots and spun around the face him.

 

He didn’t move as she came towards him in a rush; he knew he didn’t have to. As soon as she stopped when walking to the doorway, he knew he had her. Despite David, despite two children, despite the orchestra, despite Miyabi, he had her. He couldn’t help but smile in recompense, the look on her face was consumed, just as her face had been when she’d been a girl. All he had to do was be patient, he reminded himself. Be patient and be present.

 

She flung her arms about his neck, and Saki allowed himself to be pulled down to her. Her entire body constricted as she did so, like a coil about to be let go to leap to the ceiling. She felt like a girl; she always did while the curtain was being whisked away between them. Her mouth pressed desperately against his, sucking at his bottom lip. When she backed her head away, she breathed his name.

 

He did not put his arms around her in return. He did not push her away. With her face so close to his, and her breath carrying, “Saki,” to his ears, he waited. I am patient, his calm mind said, I am present.

 

Her eyes moved from his good one to his blind one, as if he could see out of both of them. At his reticence, fear began to cloud her features, as if she was realizing she’d made a terrible miscalculation, that before 2+2=4, but for some reason now it equaled 5. Her body stiffened and her breath hitched in her throat. He was patient, and he was present.

 

He felt the briefest of movements in her arms on his neck, the firing of muscles, stirring them away to release him. It was only then that he moved, at that moment when her arms were about him and not about him at the same time. One of his hands came to the back of her head, the other to her waist, and his lips returned the kiss she’d just given him with the same consumption she’d given it.

 

She felt her groin tighten at his embrace, a primal feeling, and it made her heart race and her limbs tremble. His kisses were rough and open mouthed, and they always set her aflame. He seemed to know how to kiss her perfectly, how to overtake her senses so effortlessly. He pulled away from her, looking her in the eyes. She immediately felt the absence of his body heat near her face, her blue orbs bright and lined with wet just at her lashes.

 

He couldn’t feel her kisses on his lips, the burns having deadened the nerves too severely. But he could feel pressure, and he pressed hard against her to feel her mouth on his. She knew the inside of his lips and his tongue still had full feeling capacity, and scraped her upper teeth gently on his bottom lip as she sucked it. The sensation made his belly contract, and he had to consciously control his breathing lest it match hers in her urgency. With an intake of breath, he snaked his tongue into her mouth. She met him greedily, her own tongue spinning around his, starting inside her mouth until she was fully extended. He couldn’t feel her breath on his face, but he could feel her heartbeat quicken, feel the riseand fall of her breasts against him like a drowning woman clinging to life. Languidly, he moved the hand at her lower back down to the swell of her ass and squeezed her to him. She moaned quietly into his mouth, almost only an outtake of breath, and triumph draped itself over his back and shoulders.

 

As his arms tightened possessively around her, she felt his length against her stomach, hard and unyielding like the rest of him. She moaned in earnest, her lips not leaving his, like she was giving him her life force.  She was off of her feet an instant later, her legs having been swung out from under her by one of his large hands.  He shifted his grip on her to support her legs, and the hand that had cradled her head moved to her back, trapping her against him as he carried her down the hallway. She’d not even been able to perceive the movement, it was so fast. It sent a thrill up her body, from his hand at her thighs to her lips, which moved to catch his in another fevered kiss.

 

He pulled away from her for a moment, muttering, “Hachiko, stay,” before nudging the door to his bedroom open with a foot. The dog would stay in the hallway all night, with his head between his paws, awaiting his master to give him another command if Saki saw fit to leave him there. As soon as the words left his mouth it was on hers again, his tongue brushing her lips insistently.

 

He set her down on her feet, sliding the door shut behind them before steadying her with a hand on either side of her hips. They were large enough that his fingers wrapped firmly around each of her cheeks, his thumbs at her hip bones. He picked her up once more, the rough denim pressing into his hands as he carried her over to the low bed. With her legs dangling, she put her arms tight around his neck to keep her balance. He laid her down on the mattress with the utmost gentleness, a direct contradiction to his rough kisses and swipes of his tongue. He knew the power of paradox, he knew the enticement of one extreme to the other, and he could feel the unrestrained passion in her mouth on his. Once she was prostrate on the mattress, he pulled back, hands still at her waist, and held himself above her on his knees with only his core muscles. Her breathing was heavy, her lips dark pink, and her bright blue eyes hooded.

 

His strong arms holding her up by only his hands had sent an exhilarating clench through her insides, riding down her belly and ending in a rush of wetness on her panties. She felt like a precious vase, being set down with precision and grace on a shelf to be admired. The strength that it took for him to maintain the physical position draped over her like an apparition in one’s sleep sent her hands into fists. She reached out to his waist, taking the hem of his shirt and yanking it up. She could only get it to his armpits, as he didn’t remove his hands from her hips. She released his shirt, and with splayed fingers, ripped them down his abdomen, her hands lifting and falling with the contours of his muscles. She felt his washboard abs jump slightly under her touch as her fingertips dragged below his bellybutton. She smiled up at him, open mouthed and lusty.

 

She let out a hiss of pent up fervor as he finally slid his hands up her stomach, slipping the teal tank top upward in a fluid motion. She couldn’t feel any shaking from his body, despite the fact that he wasn’t using his arms to hold himself propped over her. He pulled the top over her breasts to reveal the black, lace bra she was wearing, and she lifted her hands from his stomach to shrug off her flannel shirt. She stretched her arms up above her head,and with each of his hands cupping her arms as he went, he took the top off and threw it unceremoniously across the room.

 

He brought his lips to her neck, placed his tongue on her beating pulse, throbbing with need, he knew, in more places than one. Traveling along her collarbone, he nibbled his way down her chest, his mouth closing in over her lace encased nipple. She let out a slow moan as he flicked his tongue over it, the coarse material of her bra creating a tortuous friction. She arched her chest up, pushing herself into his mouth impatiently. He released her and slid his tongue along the edge of her bra to give her other nipple the same teasing treatment, his hand going to entwine in her hair.

 

The sudden cold from his mouth leaving her breast was a delicious contrast to the wet warmth that traveled down her belly to pool in between her legs. Her hands kneaded at his shoulders, bunching up the material of his top. Her hips rolled upwards, her mound pressing against his chest as she did. Turning her head, she placed her swollen lips to his wrist, where the burn scars on his hands faded into the untouched skin of his forearm. She moved her tongue in a figure eight over the edge of the scars, feeling the ridges with her lips move into the smooth, beautiful skin of which he was so proud. Those burns symbolized his bravery to her, his tenacity to never give up. They were the outward manifestation of the fire that burned inside of him, that had done so since the moment she’d met him at 14, and while they had stolen his beauty, they had given him a calm determination that he had not possessed before. That push of resolve might as well have been a physical thing trying to press into her belly, and the thought of it made her entire body shake with need.

 

Saki nipped the hard nub when he felt her mouth on his wrist. He hated his scars. They weren’t the scars of weapons, of defeating foes in combat. They weren’t the scars of a hurt from childhood, falling from trees or accidentally cutting oneself with a knife. They were scars from his attempt to claim the woman who had been taken from him, to eliminate his rival, and take revenge on everyone who had wronged him. But Nikka, who lay undulating underneath him, would worship each one of those scars, on his hands, on his neck, on his face. She still looked into his eyes as if he could see out of both. She saw past the scarred visage that kept everyone else at bay, to what lay under it before. He hated her for that. His physical appearance had not, would not, push her away. He wanted to crush the life out of her, make the spark behind those bright blue eyes go out. She continued to peak the mountains he climbed, where he stood overlooking the world. He wanted her for that, he wanted it like he wanted very few things in his life. He wanted to see the fire behind those eyes flare up so high, that only the orgasm he would give her would diminish it.

 

He raised his other arm, and released her hair, allowing her pull off the shirt she’d been fisting in her hands. As soon as it was off, he settled himself onto his knees, unbuttoned her shorts, and pulled them down, along with her panties. She let out an audible cry, her eyes wide, and he knew that the movement had been so quick, she’d not known it was happening until it was done. He repeated the performance with his own bottoms, and then lowered himself over her again, paradoxes gone as need consumed him. He reached around her back, unfastening her bra and throwing it to the side thoughtlessly as she brought her legs up to his sides, opening herself up to him.

 

He kissed her again, and the pause gave him time to get his control back. His cock lay against her stomach, the base pressed into the strip of wet hair above her slit. She tilted her hips up invitingly, the motion pulling on her hot inner lips and she gasped. She gazed up into his eyes with smoldering desperation, and he couldn’t help but smile in conquest and thrust his hips, watching her cheeks redden and her breaths become ragged.

 

She could feel drops of hot liquid trickling out of him and onto her stomach, a prelude of things to come. She hummed to herself in satisfaction as he rubbed against the bead of nerves at her cleft, and with each thrust of his hips against her, a jolt of electricity zipped through her body. Each inhalation brought her chest up, pressing her breasts against him in the same rhythm he moved. She clamped her thighs together, pressing the sides of his torso, and soon she was tilting down as he was thrusting up, riding the waves they created to the crest. She felt her entire pelvis clench, torn between the need for him rub against her clit faster and the ache to have him finally plunge inside of her. The tightening seemed agonizingly slow, traveling hotly up her core and back, down her legs, threatening to engulf her in a torment that would drive her mad if it wasn’t alleviated. The summit seemed so far away, each time she brought her hips down, it seemed to get higher and higher, unattainable. Then, in a whoosh, she was at the top, and the world disappeared, exploding and releasing the constriction that had encased her body. She squeezed her eyes shut, throwing her head back and crying out his name with abandon as she came, stars blooming brightly behind her closed lids.

 

When she stopped writhing underneath him and opened her eyes, he backed his hips up slightly, and with a strong thrust buried himself inside of her to the hilt. She grunted and brought her mouth to his shoulder, biting down on him and groaning. He thrust in quickly, then slowly and deliberately pulled out, each retreat making her whimper. His hips sped up and he buried his face in her neck, allowing passion to overcome him. “Nikka,” he ground out in a low, gravelly voice. He could feel her contracting around him, building up to a another crescendo. The pressure in his own groin, the swelling against her insides, grew until it would no longer be contained. He erupted inside of her in hot spurts, his hips keeping up the same rhythm, even after his own spasms were over. He knew he’d sent her over the edge once more when she let out a scream and arched her body against him.

 

He looked down at her as her convulsions subsided, her hair stuck to her forehead, her body sheened with sweat. Her eyes glinted with lust, pupils large and leaving only a thin, blue ring around them. She reached up and stroked his face, though he could barely feel it. She gently slid her hand down the side of his neck, to his shoulder, and stroked his smooth skin with her thumb.

 

He rolled over beside her, and she turned to her side to meet him as did so. She put her arms about him, pressing her wet body to his, their breathing slowing in the silence of the room around them. He embraced her, her skin silken under his calloused hands, unscathed by anything, and listened to her breathing become slow and regular. He closed his eyes. The sun had not yet risen, there was a little time for sleep before the start of the day.

 


	13. Chapter 13

Saki disentangled his body from the one lying next to him, still slightly sticky in places from the activities he’d engaged in just a few hours before.  He stroked a strand of Nikka’s light brown hair as he moved his arm from underneath her, and she stirred slightly.  He expected her to immediately go back to sleep, she was not one to stay up all night and then easily wake in the morning.  He was slightly surprised when she mumbled, her eyes closed,  “What time is, Saki?”

 

He stood up and rolled his neck from side to side.  The sensation of the cool air striking his body that had only a moment ago been sweaty from being pressed against Nikka was refreshing.  He hadn’t felt that on his skin in a long time.  “4:30 in the morning,” he answered.

 

“Will you have someone come wake me up at 8?” she said, her mouth barely moving.  “I can be on the plane by 11 and be home today…” her voice drifted off.

 

“Hnnnnnnn….” he replied, pursing his mouth.   He felt a stab of possessiveness, the clutch in his gut that he got when something that was rightfully his was being taken away and it was happening beyond his control. 

 

She smiled, her eyes still closed, a sleepy smile, sweet and tender.  “Thank you…” she muttered through it.

 

He stroked the hollow of her back at her spine, slipping his fingers from her neck to her lower back, and watched her break out in goosebumps as the smile faded slightly and she fell back to sleep proper.  While motherhood had softened her body, it hadn’t done it in an unattractive way.  She had always had a beautiful back, and it was still beautiful now, smooth and unmarred, even by the stretch marks on her hips.

 

He headed to his private bath, rolling his shoulders, they were stiff  from sleeping on his side when he was used to sleeping on his back.  The stretch of the tight muscle from his neck to the side of his shoulder blade loosened the muscle slightly.  It seemed he would be starting his morning practice today later than he usually did.

 

#

 

Nikka smiled at Saki’s vocalization, a closed mouth hum.   She had always liked his voice.  It was a gorgeous voice, deep and sure and strong.  It rumbled in his chest when he spoke, and it rumbled the air about him.   It was the perfect sound to fall asleep to.

 

She stretched lazily, and sat up, blinking sleep from her eyes.  She’d woken up before someone came to get her.  She mustn’t have slept long, she thought, maybe it was only 6 or 7 am.  She craned her head to look at the clock and gasped.

 

It was 1 in the afternoon.

 

Tangled in the sheet, she fell out of the bed in an attempt to stand up.  She thunked on the floor, and then popped back up, searching the room for her clothes.  It was one o’clock already, why hadn’t anyone come to wake her up?!  She was going to have whoever was supposed to do so flayed alive.  She wouldn’t be home until this evening now, and the Jennifer might even have the children in bed already when she got there.  She couldn’t see any of her clothing, and took a deep breath to calm herself, and try and remember in which directions Saki and thrown each piece.   Only there were no pieces.  Anywhere.

 

“My Lady?” she heard someone ask from behind the shoji door.

 

She wrapped the sheet around her body, and ran to it, sliding it open forcefully.  In front of her stood the man who had served them the other night.  He stood with his hands at his sides and a concerned look on his face.  “Are you alright, my Lady?”

 

“Where are my clothes?” she asked, her voice filled with venom.  “Why wasn’t I woken up?”

 

He bowed his head slightly, and said, “Master Shredder instructed me to let you sleep until you woke up on your own, Lady Asakami.”

 

The title shocked Nikka out of her anger at not being awoken, and she gasped.  “I am not the Lady Asakami,” she said, holding the sheet to her breast with one hand, and making a shushing motion with the other, as if the man had spoke a sacrilege.

 

“You are  a lady Asakami,” he stated.

 

She straightened up and took a good look at the man’s face.  He was middle aged, unruffled by her state of undress and by her unnerved attitude. Of course, Saki would choose someone calm to be his serving man, wouldn’t he?  She respected the ability to remain calm in anyone, whether be a king or a slave.  “I suppose, technically,” she said slowly.  “However, I would not let Asakami Miyabi ever hear you say that.”

 

He smiled a little smile, one of those knowing smiles that one’s subordinates gets when they know something very important and must keep it close to their heart.  Bowing his head again, he said, “Indeed, my Lady.”

 

The title unnerved her.  “You can call me Mistress,” she told him.  Before he could answer, she looked down at her body, and said, “Where are my clothes?”

 

“I have clothes waiting for you after your bath, Mistress,” he said, motioning down the hallway.  

 

With her head held high, she followed the man down the hallway to another door, which he opened for her.  “I am here if you need anything,” he bowed formally.

  
“Thank you,” she said, her voice slightly uncertain.  She entered the small dressing room of the bath still wrapped in the sheet, and closed the door behind her.  

 

The bath was a beautiful Japanese style one, with bamboo wood flooring and walls, and a deep soaking tub.   He would have a nice bathroom, and give me a plain old American one, she thought.  While a jacuzzi tub was nice, it was nothing compared to a proper soaking tub.  She looked at it longingly, and then shook her head and went to the showerhead on the wall.

 

Blast Saki for being kind!  She wanted to get up early to go home, and he’d tried to be nice and let her sleep in.  She was irked at it, and tried not to be at the same time.  She soaped herself up, and rinsed herself off, and when she returned to the little dressing room for a towel, she found not only it, but a set of clothes also.   Surely the servants aren’t ninjas too, she thought.   How did he get this in here without me knowing?  It was highly disconcerting, almost eerie.  

 

She put on the outfit, it was not one of her own that she’d brought, but it fit her perfectly, as all of the clothes Saki bought her did.  It was a dark red tunic-length top, edged with lace, with black capri leggings, also edged in lace.  The ballet flats that accompanied it were black, and the underwear was white.   

 

She emerged from the bathroom to find the serving man waiting for her, smiling his little smile.  “I have breakfast for you, Mistress,” he said.

 

“I have to go home,” she told him.  “I can eat on the plane.”

 

“The plane isn’t here, my lady,” he said.

 

She shook her head, little drops of water falling from her wet hair, “Of course it isn’t, it’s at the airport.”

 

He shook his head in return, a look of compassion on his face.  “No, my lady.  The plane isn’t in New York.”

 

She tilted her head slightly and raised her eyebrows.  “What do you mean the plane is not in New York?”

 

There was a moment of silence, as if the man was debating on what to tell the woman in front of him.  “The plane has been dispatched to Japan, my lady,” he said smoothly.  “To bring back some... “ his eyes left hers for a moment, a classic sign of someone thinking about what to say.

 

“You know I can tell if you’re lying,” she told him threateningly.  His demeanor was calm, with arms at his sides, yet his face appeared overly concerned.

 

Her tone of voice did not seem to bother him.  “Of course you can, my Lady,” he said, an honest look on his face, his voice smooth.  “You are one of the great  geijutsuka , one could not expect anything less.”  

 

This man had been a servant for a long time, and he’d been a damn good one.  She could appreciate that, too.  “Why is the plane on its way to Japan, when it is supposed to be taking me home?”

 

“It has been sent to bring back some important items for Master Shredder.”

 

She was silent as she gathered her thoughts.  Something wasn’t adding up, and she couldn’t quite figure out what it was.  She didn’t like that.  It was her job to figure things out, figuring things out came easily to her, but she felt like a young girl, trying to figure out how to start a puzzle of which she did not know the picture.  

 

“Where is Master Shredder now?” she asked.  “I need to go home.  I have already stayed longer than I was planning.”

 

“I believe he is in the terrarium,” the man said.

 

Nikka strode to the door, she would demand that he take her to the airport, and since his plane was not here, she’d buy a ticket and go home on a commercial flight.  She understood him wanting to be nice, and letting her sleep in, and wanting her to look nice and providing her with this outfit, but he obviously didn’t understand that she couldn’t miss Ashton’s birthday, and coming home on his birthday was just as bad as missing it.

 

His man grasped the doorknob of the front door, and before opening it, said, “I am glad you have come to visit with the Master, Mistress.”  Again, that small, secret, servant smile came to his face.  “He does not allow himself to indulge in such...enjoyment..often.”

 

Nikka had the good grace to blush at that.  She also had the good grace to take it for the compliment it was, both of the servant’s part and on Saki’s.  “Thank you,” she said, “I…” her voice trailed off.  What was she supposed to say?  “I enjoyed it, too”?  Instead, she completed the sentence with, “...need to get home.”

 

He nodded, and opened the door for her.

 

The word enjoyment always brought back her shishou's voice, years and years ago, when she had first put she and Saki together as work partners, in the Garden of the Morning.   After that first day, Miyabi had kept her in the sitting room after everyone else has gone.   Nikka had already been given two whacks, one on each shoulder, with the bamboo cane used just for that purpose, for not showing up to the midday meal.   She wouldn't have minded the beating so much,  it was just a beating after all, except that this had been a public one.   So anyone within eyeshot saw her cower as the cane came down on her first shoulder, and anyone within earshot heard the quick cry of pain she released before clamping her mouth shut.  After that, she'd had to sit at Miyabi's feet with nothing to do, no needlework, no drawing, no composing, no instrument to play,  so that all could see that she was in shame. 

 

She had thought, bitterly at the time, that Oroku Saki would not be getting caned, and that wasn't fair.   It was especially unfair, she felt, because she had truly enjoyed herself in the dojo that afternoon.   It had been a sweet reprieve from the enduring loneliness she held since her academic classmates all shifted into their places in the household, leaving her the youngest of Miyabi's students by far. Not allowed to truly befriend the servants, she was left in a position that was stuck between two levels of the household because of her age.  She and Saki had talked like friends, if not playmates.   He had been interested in what she had to say, not because she beguiled him, not because he was humoring Miyabi's little girl, but because he was interested in what she had to say. 

 

Once the room was empty, and Nikka thought she was going to collapse from sleep fighting to overtake her, Miyabi had commanded her to get up and get the healing ointment.   It took all the willpower she could maintain to walk gracefully with pins and needles shooting through her legs.   Retrieving the pretty jar, she noticed that Raiku had made the last batch.   She got a perverse pleasure assuming that if Raiku knew she was instrumental in her healing Nikka’s shoulders and her bond with her Shishou, she would be rather put out.   She would have to mention it tomorrow morning. 

 

She gave it to her Shishou, and took off her shirt to complete the regular ritual that happened after her beatings, if Miyabi had gotten over the transgression.   "So," She said, "I take it you enjoyed your day gardening." 

 

Nikka wasn't sure in what tone she meant it, and had no desire for another caning by giving the wrong answer.   "I learned a lot," she replied. 

 

"Did you, now?" the ointment went on cold to sooth the burning of the whipping marks. 

"Yes," Nikka worked not to wince at Miyabi's ministrations. 

 

"What did you learn?" Miyabi's voice was smooth and sweet. 

 

Nikka felt her ears and cheeks drain of heat at her question.   It was a leading question, a trap, with no correct answer.   She had been beaten for not returning to eat with the household,  because it wasn't proper. Miyabi was the one who put her to work, alone with a man almost twice her age, something that was going to be talked about,  if not as gossip between the two of them, then a wondering at why a very old fashioned Miyabi would do such a thing.   How was she supposed to answer? 

 

"Well?" the older woman's hands rubbed her gently on the shoulders. 

 

Nikka felt a flash of anger at the realization she was being set up.  Why would Miyabi-shishou put her in a position where she couldn’t win? Just before panic could seize her, all feeling faded away, replaced by a numbness that made it easy to decide what to answer.   "I learned Saki was not happy being paired with me," she replied.  "He does not like gardening.   He did not know the story of the forest." 

 

"Did you tell him?" Miyabi's voice was still assured and innocent. 

 

"Yes," she answered truthfully. 

 

"Did he enjoy the story?"

 

Nikka was silent a moment.   "He smiled," she replied. 

 

“He is very handsome when he smiles, isn’t he?”

 

Again, a trap, with no right answer.  Again, she decided to be honest, “Yes, he is.”

 

“Maybe you can lift some of the gloom from about him, if you can make him smile more,” Miyabi placed the lid back on the ointment and handed it to her.   “And you can tell me about it in the evenings.”

 

She took it, not turning around to face her shishou.  Understanding dawned as to why she’d put her to work with Oroku Saki.  She wanted her to spy on him.  She wanted to find out what he knew and what he didn’t know.  That meant he could lie to her.

 

The only other person she knew who could lie to Miyabi was her.

 

#

 

His daughter hissed and darted at the glass he stood in front of, as Tiger Claw landed next to him.   Her motions were animalistic and reactive, not the nubile, thought-out movement of the kunoichi that he had trained with his own hand.  His eyes did not leave her as Tiger Claw spoke.

 

“Aya has arrived, Master Shredder,” said the tiger, “and your plane has been dispatched.”

 

“Is all ready?”  he asked.

 

“Yes,” Tiger Claw lowered his head in half a nod.  

 

“Very good,” he said, waving his hand in dismissal.  The tiger mutant flew off, his jet pack flaring for a moment as he lifted off.  

 

Thoughts of children came to him, and he had to watch them drift from his mind as he watched his daughter.  Every once in a while, one would fool him into embracing it, catching him with its ghostly arms to kiss him into a lifelike memory.

 

Children changed everything.  One is told that, but one cannot understand until they become a parent.  He was no exception, and he would admit that with no qualms.  He had not been prepared for the onslaught of feeling, the barrage of complications, not matter how welcomed, that a child brought into one’s life.

 

When Karai had entered his, he felt as if a piece of him that was missing was given back.  That his beloved, the woman stolen from him, had given him a gift of her before she was murdered.   As he lay mending from his burns, in his own house, the seat of The Foot, the baby at his side was always on his mind.   The length of his healing  involved the child.   His immediate plans had to take the child into consideration.   His future plans had to be altered to include the child.   His child. 

 

He had awoken one afternoon from a painkiller haze, to find the baby was not by his side.   He thought for a moment that he had not reached in the right spot, but a sweep of his arm did not find her.   He tried to rise, his mind ready to fight, but his body not responding, when he heard, “Oh, look, Daddy is awake,” in a gentle voice.

 

Nikka?

 

It couldn’t be her, the thought.  She was in Germany, doing an ‘internship’.  Miyabi would not allow her to leave a job for any reason, certainly not to see an injured friend.

 

But as he was able to make what he saw with his eye clear in his brain, he saw it was her, looking very much her 18 years, holding Karai.

 

Karai.

 

He had felt a flare of jealous possessiveness, that was Shen’s baby.  That was now his baby.  How dare she, how dare anyone, touch his child without his permission?!

 

Nikka smiled at him, her big blue eyes wide.  “See,” she said gently, sitting on the edge of the bed and placing Karai in her lap.  “Here’s Daddy.”

 

He put his arms out to take the child from her, and Nikka had relinquished her with no complaint.  “She was fussing,” she explained, as if she sensed something was wrong.  “I changed her diaper.”

 

He put the baby on his lap, his stomach and legs weren’t burned, and he held her against him, closing his eyes and only feeling the little body’s warmth on his torso.

 

“Do you need anything, Saki?” Nikka had put her hand on his knee.

 

When he opened his eyes and looked into hers, they were filled worry.  “No,” he answered, his voice still a hoarse parody of what it should be due to the smoke of the fire.  “How long have you been here?”

 

“Since yesterday,” she said.

 

That couldn’t be right.  How could she have been here since yesterday?  He would have known by now that she was here.  He looked at her again, and saw that her eyes were red rimmed.  She’d been crying.  “What are you doing here?”

 

She had looked at him as if he were crazy.    “Because…” she shook her head, as if she didn’t know how to answer the question.

 

Karai had fussed again, twisting in his arms and stinging his hands.  Nikka had given him a bottle, he didn’t remember her getting it, and he laid the baby back to feed her. 

 

“She’s beautiful, Saki,” she’d said.

 

“Yes,” he’d answered.

 

“Does she look like her mother?”

 

He was silent a moment, then answered, “Yes.”

 

Nikka had never asked him any questions about Karai’s parentage.  He did not know what it was she had discovered, or surmised, or put together with both.  He was grateful that he had not had to explain anything, it was not something he wanted to relive.  He saw how Hamato Yoshi, his friend, his brother, had killed his most beloved, Karai’s mother, too many nights when he slept to have to tell someone about it.

 

And now, Hamato Yoshi had taken his daughter from him also, to be replaced by this thing he now had to keep in a glass cage.  He had not expected, when he became a parent, how much he would love his child.

 

He sensed Nikka coming toward him long before she entered his peripheral vision.  She came to stand by him, and laid her head gently against his arm.  He did not move, but remained looking forward, into the terrarium in front of him.  She turned her face, and her lips brushed against his skin.  The thought,  Did Stockman see that? entered his mind, and he let it flow out without latching onto it.

 

“I cannot go home, Saki,” she said softly, “if the plane is on its way to Japan.”

 

He took a breath in, “No,” he said.  

 

There was a moment of nothing in the air, where she did not respond, and he did not elaborate.  “Ashton’s birthday is tomorrow, Saki,” her voice was not so soft as it was, “how am I getting home?”

 

He turned then to face her, looking down he said,  "You will have plenty of time to spend with your son on his birthday.   Come," he put his hand on her hip to turn her around.   "I have a gift for you." 

  
  



	14. Chapter 14

An uneasy feeling inched its way through her body, starting at where Saki’s hand lay on her hip, and spreading up her torso and down her thigh.  With each step that Nikka took, her feet clicking on the floor as she walked, his footsteps as silent as the night, the uneasiness spread.  It was not fear, she noted, but just a general sort of unquiet.  He had always been difficult to read, all the good ninjas she had ever met were, and surmised that was part of what made them masters at it.  But she was very good at what she did, too, and that included reading people.  He was too comfortable, she figured out as they walked in silence, but his normal cockiness was not there.  It was the same sort of emotion he gave off when they were alone, when he could be himself, when he was being just plain, old, Oroku Saki and not the ninja, not the business tycoon, not the sensei, not this Master Shredder.  She found it unsettling, in the outfit he was wearing, only his eyes showing through his helmet and mask, this feeling that should make her feel welcomed.

 

He had bought her a gift, she knew, because she was going to be delayed at getting home, and he was trying to allay her anger before she got too angry.  The tactic was not out of the ordinary for him, he was a generous gift giver, he liked to provide people with things.  He liked to take care of his people, it was one of the things she greatly admired about him.  He not only wanted to take care of his own, but he did so with a ruthlessness that was appropriate for a man of his station.  She could honestly say that she was pleased to be part of what he considered his own, in fact, she had felt more at home, no, more herself, in the past few days here, in this strange building, than she had in a long, long time.

 

He lead her through to the floor where their rooms were located, but veered her down a different passageway.  “Where are we going?” she asked, looking up at him as they walked.

 

He did not answer, but stopped at a door and opened it.

 

She heard a squeal that she recognized in the back of her brain, but her consciousness couldn’t bring to whom it belonged to the surface.  It felt like a discordant music note sounded.  Saki walked into the room, and when she followed, she stopped in the doorway, her mouth falling open and her bright blue eyes going wide.

 

The squeal had come from Greta.  And from the look of the scene in front of her, it had been one of delight.  An Asian woman, wearing a plain blue blouse and black pants, was holding Greta up above her head, and swinging her around in a circle.  Aston was swinging a bokken about making clashing noises as if he were hitting someone or something with it.  The room was a private nursery, complete with an art area, reading nook, a table for activities, even a large glass terrarium filled with tiny, colorful birds.

 

“Mommy!” Ashton cried, interrupting one of his swings when he saw her.  Her came running up to her, burying his face in her stomach, and wrapping his arms about her, the wooden sword still in his hands.

 

“Ash,” she said, put her own arms about him.  She must still be in Saki’s bed, dreaming.

 

“Look what Master Shredder got me for my pre-birthday present!”  The little boy backed up, holding up the bokken  

 

Master Shredder?  She must be dreaming, there is no way that her children would be alright with a Master Shredder.  They would be terrified by a man wearing a science fiction rendition of a samurai costume.

 

“A bokken,” she said, the surprise clear in her voice.

 

“I’m going to learn how to use it!” Ashton announced, swinging it again, and bouncing to the side.  

 

“Are you now?” she asked.

 

He didn’t answer her, but began his crashing noises again as he fought off imaginary foes.

 

The woman holding Greta came over, a warm smile on her face.  She was classically Japanese, with pale skin, a flared nose, and a pleasant, oval face.  Her black, straight hair was long, and she was wearing it loose.  “Hello, my Lady,” she said with a slight bow.

 

“Who are you?  Where is the children’s nanny?” Nikka asked, and she knew her voice was breathier than she would like it to be.

 

“Mommy!” Greta reached over for her mother, and Nikka absently took the girl in her arms.  Her eyes never left the woman who had relinquished her.  “Dwess!” Greta pulled out the skirt of the little pink dress she was wearing.

 

“Yes, honey,” Nikka said, “You have a new dress,” though her eyes were still on the woman.

 

“I am the children’s nanny, my Lady,” said the woman.

 

She looked up at Saki, whose eyes seemed passive, as if he were watching a conversation of two strangers exchanging pleasantries.  “Where’s the nanny I hired?”  She snapped her head back to the woman.

 

“She was relieved of her post with a generous severance package,” said the woman.

 

“What?” Nikka growled.  She felt Greta cringe in her arms, and she relaxed her body posture, and smiled down at her daughter.  “Are you having a good time, honey?” she asked.

 

The little girl nodded, her white curls bouncing.

 

She kissed her loudly on her cheek, and Greta giggled.  She then put her down, and pushed her slightly to urge her away.  “Go play,” she instructed, feeling rather silly telling her to do so in this unfamiliar room.  “Look at the pretty birds.”

 

The girl ran off, needing no encouragement, apparently.   

 

Nikka kept the smile she’d given Greta plastered on her face, and looked from the woman to Saki and back again.  “What is going on?” she asked, each word getting equal emphasis.

 

“My Lady,” the woman reached out to put a reassuring hand on Nikka’s arm.

 

Nikka batted it away, hard, and the smile disappeared, replaced by an angry scowl.  “I am not ‘my Lady’,” she hissed.  She turned to Saki, her visage no different, “Who are you that you think you can go dismissing my nanny, whether or not she gets a generous severance package.”   She spit out the last three words.

 

“Mistress,” said the woman, the same calm look on her face, “it wasn’t safe for her or the children to be your house any longer.”

 

That cut through her building rage, a tendril of the unease from before wiggling back in her chest.  She whipped her head back to Saki, who cocked his own to the side and squinted his eyes.  “Do you honestly think you would come to me, tell me your children had been approached by strangers asking about me, and I not do anything?”

 

“What do you mean?” She turned back to the woman, her voice was deadly.

 

“Your house is being watched,” the woman said, her voice self assured.  “Every room in your house, excluding the bathrooms, has a camera in it.  The bathrooms are bugged.   All of your cars are bugged.  We found a tiny bugging device on your harp’s carrying case.”  The woman paused for effect, and it worked.  

 

Despite her years of schooling her feelings, the angry look slowly faded, fear began to take hold of Nikka.  How was a listening device on her harp’s carrying case?  How could she not have noticed that?  Every room in her house was bugged?

 

“Your house is also under 24 hour surveillance by various people portraying themselves in all kinds of guises,” the woman went on.  “It was obvious that your residence is no longer a safe place for your family to be.”

 

Nikka felt like someone was trying to use The Art on her, this had to be some sort of deception.  She shook her head, and looked up at Saki again.  “No,” she whispered.  How long had her house been under surveillance?  Weeks?  Months?  People were watching her every move?  Every move of her children?  Her husband?  

 

“Someone is very invested in knowing what you are up to,” Saki said to her.

 

“Because of you!” she cried, fear lacing her words.  She derided herself, she had more self control than this.  Fear was not something that would overtake her.

 

“And I am taking care of it,” he said, his deep voice a deadly calm.

 

The words took whatever had been in her mind out, leaving it blank and raw.  She didn’t want it to be true, she didn’t want him to be taking care of it, because she wanted to be angry at him.  Her children were here without her knowledge, her life was being watched without her awareness, her world was being turned upside down without her permission.  She wanted to rail at him that her life was her life, that he had no business doing something so presumptuous, that what he did was wrong.

 

But he hadn’t and so she couldn’t.

 

He had caused a problem, and he was solving the problem.  He was keeping her children safe and comfortable, well cared for.  He was keeping her safe and comfortable, well cared for.   Because it happened to be here in the headquarters of The Foot Clan and not in a penthouse did not make any less so.  When her train of thought was finished, she felt a great wash of relief, beginning at the back of her neck and enveloping her like a cloak.  She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

 

“Oh, Mommy!” Ashton was back at her side, grabbing her hand and pulling her.  “Come see our bedrooms!”

 

Nikka allowed herself to be lead to the door at the far end of the room, which opened up into a small hallway with three doors.  Ashton dragged her to the far right door, and opened it.  As soon as the door was open, he let go of her hand, and ran into the room, his sword held high.

 

The bedroom showed Saki’s love of motorcycles, for the theme was based heavily on the motor vehicle.  Even the bed, which was a work of art in and of itself, had a motorcycle handlebars and front wheel for the footboard, a bed where the seat would be, and two large back wheels mounted against the wall.  Each one had a metal dish on top of it, to make them bedside tables. The clock on the wall was a used, thick tire, and the bedcovers were black with red and orange flames, and at the far end of the room was a small motorbike set on rocks to use as a riding toy.

 

Ashton was jumping on the bed, flailing his bokken “This isn’t my birthday gift, either, Mommy!” he cried. 

 

“Ashton, don’t jump on the bed,” she said in a faraway voice.

 

The woman walked over to him, and gently picked up off of the bed, and put him on the floor.  “No jumping on the bed,” she said.

 

“My woom, Mommy!” Greta cried, opening another door in Ashton’s bedroom.

 

It lead to what was obviously an adults bedroom, and Nikka looked around confused.  Was this her new bedroom?  “This is not Greta’s bedroom, Mistress,” said the woman.  “This one is mine.”

 

“Yours?” Nikka felt the confusion grow.

 

“So that I am close to the children,” she said, continuing to walk to another door in the bedroom.  Opening it, Greta ran in it.  “This is Greta’s bedroom.”

 

The little girl’s bedroom was like something out of a fairytale.  Done in a princess theme, with a castle for a bed, on the outside of which had stairs to a small platform on the top, and then a slide on the other side.  The mattress was on the inside on the bottom, like a secret space in the castle itself, separated from the rest of the bedroom by a gauzy curtain.   There was a mural of the Japanese countryside along one of the walls, and on a hill in the distance was painted a tiny samurai.

 

Greta, unlike her brother, did not go jump on the bed, but ran to a little table with a tea set.  She grabbed up several of the cups, and then ran back to the adults, and began handing one to each of them.  Nikka felt a flush of pride as Saki took on of the small cups in his fingers, and while he did not pretend to drink tea from it, as the woman and Nikka did, he did hold it out to receive its pretend tea from Greta’s teapot.

 

“Everything is taken care of, Mistress,” said the woman.  “And I can take care of anything else that you feel needs to be done.”

 

“Who are you?” Nikka asked, annoyance laced with her voice.  While the fear had evaporated, and relief had kissed her brow, the confusion was still biting at her mind, as it was earlier, where a puzzle was missing pieces.

 

“My name is Aya, Mistress,” the woman smiled and gave a little bow.  “I will help take care of the children so that you can attend to your work and your music.”

 

Nikka looked at Saki again, who stood like a statue, his eyes impassive underneath his helmet.  “My work and my music,” Nikka repeated, as if tasting the words on her tongue.  Something was missing, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was.  Her phone gave a beep, to indicate an incoming text message.  She looked at the screen and chuckled.  “Look Saki,” she smiled, pleasure wending its way through her.  She held the screen up to him, as if showing him a treasure.  “Mr. Hammond says that it was a pleasure to have lunch with us the other day.  His wife is not into classical music, but if I am free next week, he would like to take me to a performance.”

 

The Shredder gave no indication that he even heard her.

 

She brought the phone back to her own arm level and looked at the screen.  “It is a shame,” NIkka went on, her voice wistful, “that he had such a little company, and you were at the end of your negotiations when I met him.”

 

“He retained a generous amount of his company because of you,” Saki said.  “I imagine that his lunch was pleasurable.”

 

“You know, we never got eat lunch there,” Nikka said, handing her tea cup back to Greta.  Aya took the cup from Shredder, and went with the little girl to the table.   “You will have to take me properly, sometime.”

 

“Hammond may want to take you,” he replied, turning toward the exit door of Greta’s room.  

 

“I don’t want Hammond to take me,” she said thoughtfully.  “I want you to.”  Then, what had been missing suddenly flashed in her brain like a neon sign.  “David!” she gasped.

 

“David could take you,” he said dismissively.

 

“What about David!?” she cried.

 

She could see confusion in his eyes, “What about David?”

 

She looked back at the room, where the children were playing, “Mommy will be back in a little bit,” she called.

 

Both children looked up, smiled at her brightly, and said, “Ok!”

 

She walked toward of the second exit of Greta’s room,  tugging at Saki’s hand slightly to get him to follow her.  They emerged in the hall, and with wide, frightened eyes, she said, “David is in danger too!”

 

“He is in Montreal,” Saki said, walking away from her down the hallway.  “He is no danger.”

 

“If people could do all of that to my house, why can’t they do something to David in Montreal?” she all but snapped, clittering up behind him.

 

“Then tell him to come to New York,” he waved his hand, as if the conversation were a fly bothering him.  “We can have bodyguards put on him.”

 

As they continued to walk, she dialed his number.  Holding the phone to her ear, she chanted, “Pick up, pick up, pick up.”

 

“Hello, dahling!” said his familiar, dorky voice on the other end of the phone.

 

She let out a slow breath, “Davey,” she said without a salutation, “I need you to listen to me.”

 

“I didn’t miss Ashton’s birthday, did I?” he said.  Annoyance bloomed and she felt a frustrated look come over her face.  She could hear people in the background, he was in a public place.

 

“No, you didn’t, it’s tomorrow--” she began.

 

“Oh, good, I didn’t think I’d missed it,” he interrupted.

 

“Davey, you need to come back,” she blurted.  “It is important that you come back.”

 

“I can’t come back home now,” he replied, indignant.  “The conference isn’t over.”

 

“It is dangerous for you to be there, Davey,” she said in a rush, beginning to ascend the stairs, a half a step behind The Shredder.

“Dangerous?” he asked.  “Why on Earth would it be dangerous?  I’m in Canada.  It’s one of the safest places on the planet.”

“Have you noticed if there are people in suits watching you?”  As soon as it came out of her mouth, she knew it sounded ridiculous.  Saki even looked down at her, a look of surprised disgust on his face.  Of course there were people in suits watching him and David Eustace wouldn’t notice if any of them looked suspicious.

“Excuse me, dahling?” he asked.

Her shoes seemed to click especially loudly to her ears as they walked down the hall to the throne room.  She was the only one making any noise at all, the ninjas that guarding the door stood like statues, as always.  “There are a lot of things you don’t know, David,” she said, her voice becoming clipped.   “You need to come to New York City.”

“New York City?” he asked.  “Are you still there?”

“Yes,” she answered.  She knew her voice was becoming irked sounding, and she took a deep breath to steady herself. She wanted to be honest with him, she didn’t want to put on airs, she didn’t want to be just the musician who was visiting her friend.  “The children are here, too.”

“Why in world are the children there?” his voice started to sound annoyed.

Rage burgeoned in her chest and shot down to her fists.   Just as the doors to the throne room were opened, she growled, “Because they are in danger, you mooncalf!”  The other end of the line was silent.  Nikka took a deep breath, and felt all of her emotions fade out of her, down through her legs, leaving her through her feet to be absorbed by the water that was now below her.  “Davey,” her voice was calm, it projected an assurance and sweetness that emanated through the entire throne room.  “You miss us, don’t you?”

“Oh God, Nikki, yes!” the man on the other end breathed passionately. 

“You miss the kids,” she did ask it.

“Oh yes, dahling.   I miss all of you.”

“You miss me,” she continued.

“You have no idea how much I miss you,” he whispered.

“Then come to me at New York City, Davey,” she said, her voice slightly pleading.

“Of course I’ll come to you,” he spoke it as if he was speaking a secret. 

“There will be a plane ticket waiting for you at the airport, first class,” she said, looking at Saki as if for confirmation.  He sat down on his throne and said nothing.  “I will have you picked up at the airport, and we can stay in Saki’s apartment.”

“He won’t mind the children?” David asked uncertainly.  “Are you sure?”

“Davey, the man is a single father,” she looked at the phone as if the person on the other end was unbelievable.  She felt emotion coming back into body.  “He has already been with the children.  He’s fine with them.”

“Alright, dahling,” he said. 

“Leave now,” she said.  “As soon as you hang up with me, do you understand?”

“I will leave now,” he assured her.  “I love you,” his voice was wistful.

“I love you, too,” she replied, and then hung up.  She put her full attention on Saki, “Please tell me you have an apartment here.”

He sighed, as if he were badly done to, “No,” he said.  “What need do I have for an apartment?”

She looked frightened for a moment, drawing her lips in, and then turned to one of the ninjas in the room.   “I need an apartment,” she said firmly.  “One that looks like Oroku Saki would live in it.”  The ninja didn’t move.   

Very deliberately, Saki got up from his throne, ignoring Nikka wholly, so that for a moment, she thought she might have to do something drastic.  The ninja was  ignoring her command, and Saki seemed to be ignoring her.  He walked up the ninja, standing still, his net-masked eyes seeming to face straight ahead.  Then, in a flash, the ninja was thrown across the room.  Unable to recover from the throw, the ninja hit the floor and slid along the glass until he hit the stepped wall on the opposite side.  “You will obey the Lady,” his deep voice was menacing, and the sound of it filled her security.  “Go!”

The ninja got up, and all but ran to the door.

The Shredder went back to his throne, and sat down gracefully.  She walked up to him, and touched her hand to his gloved one.  “Thank you, Saki,” she said softly, her eyes shining with gratitude.

“You’re welcome,” he replied.

  
  
  



	15. Chapter 15

Aya watched Mistress Veronika and Master Shredder leave the nursery, fully competent in the new role that Master Shredder had assigned her.  She’d been surprised, she would admit off the record, that the opportunity for such a position would even exist within The Foot Clan, but it was here, it was given to her, and she would do a fabulous job at it.

But first, she had to convince The Lady Asakami of that fact.  Aya had been around enough to know that a person such as the one who just left, was not easily appeased once angered, and that having surprises sprung upon them got them angry.  While the ultimate surprise, being with her children, might be a pleasant one, Aya would confess that how they came to be here was not.

Being assigned to find out who had come to the Eustace’s children’s school to ask about The Shredder was a basic sort of task.  If someone was asking about you, then you wanted to know who they were.  What had not been so basic was actually identifying them.  Aya and her partners did not recognize any of the surveillance materials that were used in the Eustace household.  They weren’t used by the United States government.  They weren’t used by the Japanese government.  They weren’t used by the many corporate enemies that Oroku Industries, and therefore its two major stakeholders, had made over the years.  There was a pattern to the technology, it was not a mismash of parts, but the pattern was not known to Aya, not enough to ID the owner, and now she was no longer assigned to finding out who the owners were.

It was a left handed compliment on how well The Shredder kept his own security, however, that his enemy, whoever they may be, had to resort to bugging Mistress Veronika’s residence to get information on him.  That the two were long time friends was not a secret to anyone, that they were close business cohorts was a matter of public record.   Oroku Saki made up 51% of his company, Veronika Heathcock made up another 25%.  The remaining 24% was spread among various holders at various times.  If someone was looking for a business opportunity, they would be looking in a very different place than Mistress Nikka’s house.  That she had played a small role in business affairs for the past six or seven years since her son was born, was also no secret.  She would pop up from time to time, surprise those who saw her, and then settle down into her little life, in her little town, playing for her little symphony, and writing her own little songs.  However, if said enemy couldn’t get in anywhere else, that would be the next logical place to turn.

Aya was surprised that Mistress Veronika could live such a little life, with the type of woman she was.  It took only a few moments of being in her presence to figure out that one was having a priveledge in seeing her, much like Master Shredder.  Aya would have no desire to get the woman genuinely angry.

However, she was more surprised when she had directed her anger at The Shredder.  Aya had felt the compulsion to grab the children and dash from the room, that lightening bolts would soon come down from the sky and strike the  geijutsuka dead.  No one spoke to The Shredder that way.  Ever.  Not even his own daughter.  And in reply, all the Master had done was speak to her through gritted teeth.  Aya had waited for him to draw his push daggers and spear the woman who had accused him of putting her in danger.  When did not happen,  Aya had realized there was a dance going on between to two of them, a dance that she didn’t know the music to, and wasn’t sure she really wanted to know either.  Those kinds of songs tended to be very complicated, another paradox of the Mistress living such a simple life.

When she had gotten word this morning that she was to relieve the nanny of duty and bring the two children to New York City, she had set right to work, and had them here before Mistress Veronika had even awoken from the previous night.  She chuckled.  Rumors were flying about where, exactly, she’d awoken in the morning.  Oh yes, some sort of dance was being played, one she wouldn’t have thought The Shredder engaged in.  He was too single minded.

Or perhaps, after all, he wasn’t.

She was now tucking the children into her bed, for the second time that night.  She had taken them to an apartment, supposedly Mistress Veronika’s husband was to join them there.  When the phone call had arrived, they were sent back, the apartment would be sold, fully furnished, unused, Aya knew.  It was a shame, because it was a beautiful penthouse apartment.  She’d never even been in one before, she was looking forward to staying in one  a while. 

Aya felt bad about the children being shuffled about in the middle of the night, when they’d just left their home, so she’d put one on each side of her in her double bed, and the three of them went to sleep.

###

Oroku Saki’s got out of his Bentley, nodding to the chauffeur who held the door open.  His loafers hitting the asphalt made barely a sound.  The red and blue lights of the many police cars were partially blinding, and it took him a moment to find Nikka within the bustle.  She was standing in front of a police man, near the wrecked Lexus.

He liked that Lexus, even though it wasn’t the most expensive of cars.  It was a comfortable car.   It’s shame,  he thought,  that it had to be totaled.

There was an ambulance on the scene, its doors open, people bustling inside of it.

He approached Nikka, putting his hand on her shoulder.  She looked up at him, her face expressionless.  “Saki,” she said, her voice matching the blank mask of her visage.

“What happened?” he asked the police officer in his deep calm, voice.

The officer had a hard time figuring out where to look when he addressed him, just as the rest of the world did.  Should he look in his one good eye?  Should he look in both, even though one was obvious blind?  How did one gawk at the hideous burns without looking like they were gawking?  “There really isn’t a lot to tell,” the officer cleared his throat.  “Just as I told Mrs. Eustace here.”  He glanced at her for longer than he should have, to get away from looking at him, Saki knew.  “It’s late, it’s dark,” he shrugged.  “Mr. Eustace was in the back seat with no airbag.”

“Dr. Eustace,” Nikka corrected, her voice harsh, despite her impassive look.

“Dr. Eustace,” the officer corrected, looking back at Saki.   “The EMTs say his neck was cleanly broken, probably from whiplash.  It’s rare that happens, but its good.”

Saki looked at the man as if he was mad.

“Uh, I mean,” the officer looked at Nikka desperately.  “He didn’t feel any pain,” he put his hand on Nikka’s arm.

She turned her head, without turning any other part of her body, and stared at his hand.  When the officer didn’t move it, her gaze turned to him, and her impassive face had turned to one of spite. 

The officer tore his hand from her arm fearfully.

Saki put his own arm about Nikka’s shoulders, he did not pull her close, though.  A space remained between them, letting the red and blue of the police lights shine in between them.

“Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?” she asked the officer, her voice calm and assertive, her face impassive once again.  

The officer blinked, and then shook his head slowly.  “It was just a freak car accident, Mrs. Eustace,” he said.  “I’m sorry.”  

She nodded in return and sighed.

“Where is the driver?” Saki asked.

“He’s in the ambulance,” replied the officer.  “Getting treated for whiplash.”

Saki nodded and bent down near Nikka’s ear.  “Go get in the Bentley,” he said gently.  “I need to tell the ambulance where to go.”

She nodded numbly, and turned like a robot toward the car.

He walked to the ambulance, where the driver of his Lexus sat on a gurney with a neck brace on.  His head had a large gash in it, which was seeping blood slowly down his face.  “Sir,” he said upon seeing Saki, bowing his body slightly.

“Take him to Stinest Hospital ,” he said.  “See that he gets the best medical care.”

The EMT raised his eyebrows at the mention of the prestigious private hospital.

“Thank you, sir,” said the driver.

Saki gave him a nod.  “Loyalty is to be rewarded.”

He then went back to the Bentley, where the chauffeur held the door open for him, and then closed it when he was in.

As they drove away, Nikka looked out the window, her face away from Saki.  He could see her reflection in the glass, her expression unreadable.  

She had taken his bringing her children to New York much better than he’d anticipated.  He was prepared for an out and out tantrum, with screaming and accusations of being treated like a little girl.  He was grateful that she’d only thrown a tiny fit and he’d not had to do anything to her to quell it.  He didn’t enjoy treating her roughly, even if it was for her own good.   While he was grateful for not having to deal with a breakdown earlier in the day, the way she was acting now worried him.  He’d only seen her act this way a few times, all of them when she was young.   Each of them had been followed by something unpleasant happening to someone else.

The first time he’d witnessed it, was two days after her fifteenth birthday.  It had been quite the fete, a huge party to celebrate…Saki wasn’t sure what.  It seemed a great deal to be only celebrating a fifteen year old’s birthday.  None of them were Spanish or Latino.  But many of Miyabi’s cohorts were present, high ranking officials and lower echelon royalty.  He suspected, with all of the parading she had the birthday girl do, it might have been to rub some insult he was not aware of in their faces.  Nikka had been asked to do a variety of things by those present, she recited poetry, played a biwa to the surprise of all, played a flute for a while, and then sang while playing a guitar.  All of Miyabi’s students had danced, something entirely alluring that certain perpetuated the rumor of what a geijutsuka did in private when trying to persuade someone.  Several of the people present sat with their mouths dropped open, men and women alike.   It always surprised him, while he was there nursing his hurts, when her students acted as a cohesive group.    After the entertainment, when the alcohol had been libationly poured and drunk and personalities and grudges had been softened, Miyabi’s students milled about the room until someone or someones took an interest in them.

Nikka had caught the attention of a dignitary and his wife.  They fawned over her as if she were a rare porcelain doll and the girl ate the attention up, flirting with both husband and wife.   Miyabi beamed, at one point coming over to the girl as she sat at the dignitary’s feet and kissing her.  Nikka had thrown her arms about her neck and said, “Okasan daisuki!” in front of everyone.  The man and his wife had awww’ed and petted on the girl some more.  The night had ended like any other party night, with guests and residents slowly making their way to their rooms, most of them swaying in the hallways on the way there.  

He had been walking back to the main house with his students after practice the next day, when the sound of high pitched screaming pierced the air.  The unmistakable swish of a flexible bamboo cane and thunk of it hitting flesh quickly followed it.  He and his students had run to the courtyard, to see servants and housefolk gathered around, all with desperate looks on their faces.  Miyabi, in the personification of rage, brought the cane her hand down in such quick strokes that it was nothing more than a blur in the air.  With the completion of each downward stroke, it struck Nikka, curled up in a ball with her arms covering her neck.   No one made any moves to intervene.

“But you wanted it!” Nikka had managed to cry in between screams.  

“Who--”  thwack  “do—“  thwack “you—“  thwack “think—“  thwack “you—“  thwack “are?!”  With each word, Miyabi brought the cane down on Nikka’s curled up body.

“I wanted to get it for you!”  Nikka’s voice had been a manic scream. 

Miyabi whacked several more times before one of Saki’s students had looked at him and said, “Sensei!”  It hadn’t crossed his mind to do anything, no one else was doing anything.  Miyabi was not known for her gentle nature, and a beating, no matter who was on the receiving end, was not a rare thing.

However, a beating like this was.

His student had snapped him out of his onlooker stupor, so that he stepped forward, saying, “Lady Miyabi.”

She seemed to not have heard him, for she had continued to bring the cane down on her star pupil.

Saki had grabbed her wrist when it came up to prepare for another strike.   “Lady!” he said harshly.  Miyabi had stopped, dropped the cane, and with her free hand slapped Saki across the face.  He released her, more out of surprise than compliance.  She marched off back to the house, and immediately the courtyard became silent.

When he had looked up, he saw no one had moved, not even Nikka from her balled up position on the tile.  As if in slow motion, Raiku came forward out of the crowd and bent down near the girl, her hand hovering over her back.  “Beronika-chan,” she said softly.  “You have to get up.”

He had been surprised at the name Raiku had called her, he had never seen any love lost between the two of Miyabi’s top students.  Nikka had stayed in a ball a moment longer, and then straightened herself out, her face red and eyes swollen from crying.  Her face was completely empty, like a bad drawing, with no emotion in it at all.  She stood up, and took a deep breath and had walked forward toward the fields, her feet stepping softly, as if the ground might break underneath her.  The surrounding housefolk parted to make way for her.  Once she was gone, they dispersed, leaving the courtyard quiet.

Saki had not gone into the house, but back to the dojo.  Anger was slowly building inside of him, starting at the phantom of the sting on his cheek and dripping down his throat into his chest.  Miyabi had struck him, had shamed him in front of his students, in front of the entire household.  She would pay for that, perhaps not today.  Perhaps not tomorrow, but she would pay, and pay dearly.  

It took him a week to find out what the cause of the uproar was, he got several different reasons from several different people and Nikka told him flat out before their morning meditation sessions together, she did not want to talk about it.   Apparently, Miyabi had wanted something from the dignitary.  He never found out what, nor did he care to.  The great geijutsuka had been unable to attain it from him.   Nikka, on the other hand, had gotten it from him after the party and had presented it to her shishou the next day after everyone was gone with a proud smile and a flourish.

That had, obviously, not gone over the way Nikka had intended it to.

The girl had walked about as if in a trance for a good two weeks.  She did all of her tasks admirably, doing what was asked of her immediately and without questions.  She followed the same pattern of the day that she always did; coming to the dojo in the very early morning to meditate with Saki, as they had established during their forest-gardening month together; doing her lessons with no fuss; doing her housework with no muss.  Her usual vicious verbal sparring with her fellow students was completely absent.  When one of them tried to engage her, she ignored them, as if they were not speaking.  Raiku, he noticed, was conspicuously silent the entire time.

At the end of the second week, the young group of geijutsuka had taken a walk together in the evening.  The sun had set, but the world was still lit, so they had no lanterns with them as they followed the path that lead by the dojo.  His own students, at having gotten wind that the women were headed their way, had gathered outside, sitting and standing nonchalantly about, as if it was something they always did in the dusk of the day.  They seemed not pay attention to the small group of women walking their way, yet they heeded them like Saki had taught them to heed enemies.   If they paid attention to their lessons that well, he remembered thinking,  then they’d all be very fine ninjas.

As the came closer, it became clear that the walk was not going calmly.  Though the women’s steps were sensuous and practiced, the looks on their faces were an array of anger, anxiousness, disgust, and Nikka’s completely blank.  It looked as if his students were not going to have just a pretty thing to look at as it passed, but might watch a cat fight.

“You are a spoiled brat!” one of the women hissed, grabbing Nikka by the shoulder and twisting her around.

The girl seemed to snap out of her fortnight long daze, and squinted her bright blue eyes menacingly.  Her head snapped to the group of Saki’s students, and landed on one man.  “You,” she said, her voice authoritative.  “Do you have a knife?”

The young man nodded dumbly.

The woman’s look became vicious, “You think that you can get one of Sensei’s men to defend you?” she taunted.    

Saki had thought the same thing, thinking the girl would be sorely disappointed, until she said, ”Give it to her,” she gestured disgustedly to the woman whose hand was still on her.

The young man walked over and handed his knife to the confused woman, who used the hand that had been on Nikka to take it.

“Are you angry at me?” Nikka asked her.  Her voice sounded conversational, as if she’d asked ‘how was the weather?’.    

The woman just stared at her.

“Would you like to cut me?”  Nikka asked.  “Maybe at my throat,” she made a cutting motion with her fingers.  “Or would you just like to disfigure me, slice both of my cheeks?”

The woman didn’t answer, and the rest of the group simply stared at Nikka with distantly awed faces.  Saki noticed the same sort of expression on his own students, and wondered if he’d suddenly been dropped into the Twilight Zone.  Maybe he was having a vivid dream, because none of this seemed to make any sense.

Nikka drew her fingers down each of her own cheeks in an undeniably erotic way, her eyes still squinted in maliciousness.  “Do you wonder what that feels like?” she asked.  “What it feels like to have the cuts stitched up?”

The woman still just stared, awestruck.  

“Why don’t you find out?” Nikka’s voice now matched the look in her eyes.

Without hesitation, the woman brought the knife up to her face and quickly sliced both of her cheeks from under her eyes to her chin.  The world was still for a moment, nothing happened, confirming to Saki that he was dreaming.  The knowledge brought of relief with his intake of breath.

Then blood began to flow out of the woman’s face, dripping off of her chin.  That seemed to break whatever spell they had been under, and had snapped Saki out of the delusion that he was dreaming.  

As the woman screamed, putting her hands to her cheeks, Nikka turned to the young ninja who had handed her his weapon.  “You have your knife back now,” she said innocently, before turning back down the path and walking away.

After that she’d been back to her happy, bubbly self, all smiles and bouncy excitement.

Tonight, as she looked out the window at NYC buzzing by, she had the same robotic feel to her as she had back then.

“You will take Ashton to Coney Island for his birthday tomorrow,” he said, not asking, but his deep voice was gentle.

“Today,” Nikka turned to him.  “His birthday is today.”

“Then you will take him to Coney Island today,” Saki told her.

She nodded, “Oh yes,” she said mechanically.  “He will enjoy that.”  She turned back to the window.

“Nikka,” he reached over and took her chin in his hand turning her to face him.  “You must be strong for your children.”  He hated having to do this type of thing.  He did not do it often, and only with Karai and Nikka.  It left him feeling sad and open and raw, emotions that belonged to someone else, not him.

Nikka nodded again.  ”I am,” she assured him with no assurance in her voice.  “We will have a good time tomorrow.  It is his birthday.”

He stroked her chin with his thumb, unable to feel it physically with his fingers.  His feel of her ki was slightly removed, her sense of presence very distant and small.  He would take her to his bed tonight, so she did not sleep alone, and then send her on her way to the amusement park to celebrate with Ashton, he decided.    

     



	16. Chapter 16

The salt air hit her nose, but she knew it only in the sense that it was salt water.  A simple fact, water with salt in it.  It did not bring the feelings usually associated with it; trips to the beach with Miyabi, mother of her heart, and the rest of the household; that awful trip with Saki, Karai, and Chris Bradford to Belize where the landlady hated her guts; her last trip to Coney Island, eleven years ago.

 

Nikka heard Ashton and Greta talking, and she heard herself answering, but she wasn’t really aware of what any of the three of them were saying.  Aya had wanted to come, but Nikka had sent her away. Perhaps I should have let her accompany us, she considered.  But she wanted Ashton to have a good time on his birthday, it was important that he have a good time on his birthday.

 

A photographer approached them, snapping their picture.  She looked at the LCD screen, and saw herself and the children all smiles, their faces lit up with the excitement of the day.  She didn’t feel the way the woman in the photo looked.  She bought the photo, taking her ticket to pick it up within the hour.

 

When she handed the man the money, she seemed to drift in time, so that she was in two places at once.  As if watching two movies on one screen, she saw her children bouncing about around her, pointing to this ride and that, and she saw Karai, a little younger than Ashton, doing the exact same thing after handing a photographer the money for photographs.

 

She had begged Saki to bring Karai on that business trip to NYC.  “You don’t need to bring anyone to take care of her,” Nikka had begged.  “I”ll do it!  I’ll do it the whole three days!  Pleeeaaaassee, bring the baby!  Please!”

 

To her utter surprise, he’d actually done it.  

 

And so, for three days, the 23 year old Nikka had got to play mommy.

 

Their Coney Island day had been a wonder of ups and downs, exhausting and exhilarating.  Her own ups and downs had continued after Karai had fallen asleep that night.  At the start of the day, the little girl had not wanted to wear what Saki had picked out for her, and threw something akin to a tantrum.  Nikka had guessed it was as close as one could tantrum with Saki as one’s father.

 

She had crossed her little arms in front of her chest, and her little mouth turned down into a scowl.  Her black hair, cut into a little bob at her shoulders, shook as she flung her head from side as she sat on the bed in only her little panties.  “It’s ugly!” she’d said.  “I won’t wear it.”

 

“You will wear it,” Saki had said calmly, “because it is what there is for you to wear.”

 

Nikka didn’t think it was ugly, and she doubted that Karai actually thought it too.  Saki did not pick out ugly clothes.  She’d envied that ability, she wasn’t good at doing it.  Her fashion sense was all clinical, his was innate.  

 

“I won’t wear it!” she said her voice rising.

 

Nikka had stood to the side watching the exchange, waiting for Saki to spank her.

 

But he didn’t.  He had crossed his arms in front of his chest, and the two looked like caricatures of each other so that she had to break into a smile.  “You will wear it,” he said gruffly.

 

“I’ll tell you what,” Nikka slid in between them, and crouched down to Karai’s level.  “Why don’t you put on the outfit, and then we’ll go shopping for a different outfit and put it on before we go the amusement park?”  She looked up at Saki to make sure the arrangement was acceptable to him.

 

He grunted that noncommittal grunt that he had that meant neither yes nor no.

 

Karai seemed to be considering the proposition.  “I get to pick out the outfit?” she asked.

 

Nikka gave her a sidelong glance, trying to look serious.  “You can pick it out,” she said finally, “but I have to approve it.”

 

Karai had blinked slowly in thought.  “OK,” she agreed, and promptly got off the bed and dressed herself in the aforementioned ugly outfit her father had selected for her.

 

They’d gone to a Mommy and Me store, where Karai picked them matching outfits of leopard print skirts.  She originally picked out a dark blue shirt to go with it, but Nikka had vetoed it, and got the same style in black.  Karai had managed to finagle Nikka out of  a pair of boots in the deal.   It is a shame she’s so far away , Nikka remembered thinking.   She would make a fine geijutsuka.  

 

Afterward, they’d had lunch at a little cafe then headed to Coney Island.

 

They’d spent the entire rest of the day there.  They rode rides, played games, laughed, and hugged.  They had several photos made of themselves, some in silly poses, some in more serious ones.  One was of them back to back in their matching outfits.  Another was of them sipping a milkshake with two straws and their noses touching.  A third was of them both smiling into the camera, Nikka’s head resting on top of Karai’s.

 

“You don’t have your mommy’s lips,” the photographer had said, “But you have your mommy’s smile.”

 

Karai had giggled and when they walked away, she said, “He thought you were my mommy!” 

 

Nikka had beamed, her lips upturned in delight.  “He did!  But he was half way right.  You are my little girl!”  She lifted Karai in the air and kissed her soundly.  

 

The little girl had thrown her arms about Nikka’s neck.   “I love you, Nikka!” she had said in Japanese.

 

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Nikka had replied.

 

When they had returned to the hotel that night, the little girl all but collapsed on the bed, her little ‘me’ outfit still on.  Nikka had cuddled with her until Saki returned.  She’d gently gotten out of the bed, and then in excited whispers told him about the day and showed him the pictures.

 

She’d been filled with gratitude, but the feeling did not bleed over to her now as she remembered the night.  The feeling caused her reach up and kiss his cheek, his skin too smooth and tight from his burns.  “Thank you for bringing her,” she had said.

 

“Mommy,” Ashton pulled on Nikka’s hand, and pointed toward a ride.  “Let’s go on that one!”  

 

The other half of the movie screen, that held Karai and she from eleven years ago, faded away.  She was watching only one movie screen now, with herself and her two children on her son’s birthday.   But still the feeling of watching a movie did not disappear.  Her psychology training began to kick in, listing things off in the back of her mind as she boarded the ride with her two little ones.   I am suffering from depersonalization and derealization, she told herself.  The removal of a connection with sense of self and with the sense of reality, while two independent events, they often happened together, due to some sort of trauma.   But I haven’t suffered any trauma , she thought.  It can’t be that we’ve all moved .  She had moved many times before, albeit all before she was married and the kids were born.    Perhaps I am so out of practice being in danger, that the thought of someone watching my family has finally gotten to me.   That could be processed as trauma, an ongoing incident that produced anxiety.     My husband has died in a car accident,but that isn’t trauma to me  I wasn’t hurt.  He was the one who suffered the trauma.   People had died in her life before and she had not responded like this.  But this was my fault, she accused herself.  It was her fault, but people had died by her own hand before, more than once, and she didn’t react this way.    But I wanted those people to die, she thought, sitting down on the ride with Ashton on one side of her and Greta on the other.   I didn’t want David to die.    But the thought was not accompanied by any feeling, so she wasn’t entirely sure that was it either.  

 

Their day at the amusement park was full of laughter, sweets, kisses, and hugs.  The photos all came out fabulously, and both children were filthy and exhausted when they returned to Shredder’s Lair.  She bathed them in raspberry bubble bath, her mind telling her that Ashton would not want to be bathed for much longer, she had only a year or two left before his innate desire for privacy would kick in.

 

As they put on their pajamas, she tucked Greta in with a kiss, then went to Ashton’s room.

 

He looked up at her, his blanket pulled up to his chin, his eyes wide and his mouth down turned slightly..  “Mommy,” he said, “Daddy hasn’t called.”

 

“No,” she answered, blinking slowly.  “He hasn’t, has he?”

 

“Can I call him?” he asked.

 

She took a moment to reply.   He won’t answer the phone, there is no need to call him,  she thought.  But then rage erupted in her chest, surging up her neck to her cheeks. David Eustace was not going to ruin her son’s birthday.  He ruined it last year by being oblivious, he wasn’t going to destroy the day for the boy again by being dead.  

 

“It’s very late in Montreal,” she said.  “He is probably asleep.”

 

“He forgot again?” Ashton looked heartbroken, and the rage flowed down into Nikka’s fists, so that she had to consciously keep them relaxed.

 

“He may have,” she replied.  “But you had a good birthday, didn’t you?”

 

He smiled, though not the excited one of the day.  He was old enough now, Nikka realized, for the slight of his father’s forgetfulness to tinge his memories.  “Yeah.”  He reached up and hugged her.

 

The sense of possessiveness almost overwhelmed her.  He was her little boy, she made him inside of her, out of her, and from her.   “I love you so much, sweetheart,” she told him.  “I want everything for you.”

 

She felt him smile wide against her neck.  “I love you, too, Mommy.”

 

###

 

Karai finally coiled up against a large log in her terrarium, her reptilian eyes not leaving The Shredder’s form as he stood in front of it.  His gloved fingertips rested gently on the glass as the watched her.  She’d come at him three times, each time banging against the wall of the enclosure in an attempt to strike at him.  Each strike was met with the glass, The Shredder immobile, his fingers resting against the pane, a fierce eye on his daughter.

  
  


“I will avenge you, Karai,” he said quietly, just as he had said hundreds of times before.

 

He had a new weapon at his disposal, one like he had not had before.  Unlike his daughter the kunoichi, who, no matter how stealthy she had been, had been unable to locate The Turtle’s Lair until he had lost her.  Until Hamato Yoshi had taken her from him, fed her lies in the guise of kindnesses.  He could not blame Karai for the transgression, she was only a child, after all, fiery and rebellious, like her mother, who needed time in order to come to her senses.  Only, she had not had the time.  Leonardo had plunged her into the vat of mutagen meant for him, to turn her into the monster that now curled up before him.

 

But his new weapon, also fiery and rebellious, was fully grown and  not a kunoichi.  She was something else altogether, where her fight was not on the battlefield but in the heart and mind of her opponent.  She was able to stand in the full light of day, projecting an illusion.  She was one of the best geijutsuka in the world, worthy of being part of his army.  She had practically fallen into his lap by the careless of move of some unknown enemy.

 

And he could feel her slipping away.

 

Nikka had fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow the night before and she slept fitfully, moving and groaning.  She had awoken once in the night, whispering, “Saki?”  When he had answered her, she said in a voice that held no emotion, “Why did this have to happen to David?  He was only ordinary.”  He had rubbed her back and kissed her lips and she’d fallen asleep again.  He had gotten up from the bed long before she regained consciousness, and he’d been told that she had gone through the motions of getting ready for the day with the same sort of robotism that she’d shown last night.  

 

Once the children were in view, her demeanor seemed to change into one of cheeriness, with happy birthdays abounding, but her ki was still distant.  She was playing the part of mother not embodying it.

 

When she came home, she was still acting, a loving mother who was having a wonderful time celebrating with her son on his birthday.  It was easy for him to see that it was an act, the playing of an art.  The curse of the geijutsuka.

 

He hadn’t been surprised when he had learned about one of the major weaknesses of the women that Miyabi, and he guessed Miyabi herself, were susceptible to.  Tales abounded of people going mad in the middle of their roles, to be discovered as spies, or to lose their former identity completely and become another person who never really existed.

 

“He was only ordinary,” he heard her say in his mind.  His brow furrowed as his eyes stayed glued to his daughter.  She’d fallen into the trap of the geijutsuka, he realized, playing the part of the musician and the astronomer’s wife.  It was a much more ordinary life than the one she had lead before she’d married David Eustace and the one she would live after him.  The ordinary must have drawn her in, lulled her into a sense of..what?  What would that life have that was so appealing to her?  Again, his daughter stormed into his conscious vision and he had to let the anger that threatened to overtake him at the fate of his child pass over him, like a cloud in the sky.

 

He had encourage Nikka to sleep with her children that night when she came home.   It must be very easy to attempt to lose oneself in the act of motherhood, he thought.   But she is not with Ashton and Greta all the time.  Nor did he want her to be.   She had a job to do.  She needed to keep doing it.

 

He was tempted to strike her to get her to come to her senses, but he doubted it would work.  While much could be handled in such a way, matters of the mind and heart did not resolve themselves that way.  He knew that from the raising of a strong and capable daughter, his strong and capable daughter, now before him in the form of a serpent, mindless.  He knew that from the healing of his own mind and heart.

 

How much of a part did others play in that, he wondered?  He had never questioned that Karai had pulled him through, the need for the baby to be cared for was constant and desperate.  Shen’s baby and the growth of the Foot Clan were his only thoughts for many years.  He had felt a great sense of relief when Karai was old enough to start her martial arts training.  It was as if she’d reached a stage indicating she could take care of herself.  When she became one of his finest students, proving that she  could take care of herself, another weight was lifted from him.

 

Then this had happened.  His beautiful, strong, fierce daughter had been transformed into a monster, found hiding on Coney Island like a feral animal. 

 

The last time that his daughter went to Coney Island, that he knew of, was when she was about Ashton's age.   She had gone with Nikka, who obviously needed some sort of pleasant diversion from her current mission.   The two had gone out shopping, spent the day playing games and eating junk food, and his little daughter had collapsed in the  geijutsuka’s  arms.

 

He had come into the hotel room to find the two cuddling together and had originally thought both were asleep.  But Nikka opened her eyes, her face breaking into a huge smile when she saw him.  She had gently taken herself away from the sleeping child and padded over to him, grabbing a large envelope off the bedside table.

 

“Oh, Saki!” she whispered excitedly, “Did you have a successful day?”  She put the envelope down on the dresser.  

 

“It was fine,” he had replied, beginning to shrug off his suit jacket.  

 

She took it by the shoulders and slid it off him, as if it were something she did all the time. “We had a fabulous time,” she whispered fiercely.  She began to loosen his tie absently, her eyes fixed on it as she babbled with a grin.  “We went on all the rides, and we fished, and we met this woman who gave us milkshakes...well,” she admitted, looking up at him quickly before going back to his tie, “...I may have helped in her giving us milkshakes.”  She slid his tie off and laid it gently on the dresser, picking up the envelope.  “We got our photos taken at all kinds of little spots,” she explained, taking a set of photographs out of the large package.  She handed them to him, and he began to thumb through them silently.    “That one is my favorite,” she said, pointing to one of she and Karai sipping from a milkshake together, their noses scrunched, almost touching.  “That is the one I am going to put in a frame,” she told him.  It was the two of them in a classic style, face to face, smiling with the setting sun casting gracious shadows on both of them.  “And that one is Karai’s favorite.”  It was the two of them back to back in their awful matching outfits, the little girl gazing up at the young woman.

 

He put the photos down on the dresser, and she’d smiled up at him, a sweet look on her face.  “Thank you, Saki, for bringing her,” she had said.  Then she had utterly shocked him by standing on her tip toes and kissing his cheek.  It had been years since someone had touched his face in any shape, form, or fashion.  It had been even longer since he’d received a kiss. Monstrosities were not gifted with such things.  Her lips had lingered there, he couldn’t feel the touch, but he could feel the warmth of her breath ghosting his skin.  Then, her lips had slid slowly forward, until they were touching his.

 

For a moment, he’d been stock still, his mind completely blank, having no prior knowledge from which to draw from for what was happening.  Then, his body had taken over.

 

He felt a surge of desire like he hadn’t experienced since boyhood.   Lust gripped at his loins and his chest, so that he wrapped his arms around the young woman before him, pulling her against his body.  His lips crushed hers, and he could feel her quick intake of breath as her chest pressed against him.  She threw her arms about his neck, he felt her clutching at him, her fingers pressing into his shoulders.

 

Without thought, he’d slid his hands down her back, over her fleshy cheeks, her skin was warm and humid against his fingers where he had them holding her thighs.  He lifted her, so that her legs straddled him and she wrapped her legs about his waist, letting out a little noise as she did so.   He’d carried her into the sitting room of the suite, a stray thought in the back of his mind reminding him that Karai was in the bedroom.

 

He’d shoved her against the wall, no considerations given for whether the force or his weight hurt her, it didn’t even cross his mind.  He was lost in primal need, a jaguar running for its prey, its jaws only inches away from the jugular that would claim the deer it was chasing.  

 

He hadn’t even removed any of their clothing, his only notion to take what was given to him as soon as possible.  He’d opened his trousers, and moved the crotch of her panties to the side to give him entrance.  With a quick thrust, he’d buried himself inside of her, causing for her breath to leave her quickly.  There was a moment just after her exhalation where the world stood still, the moment when the jaguar had finally caught the deer and the deer had bled out on the jungle floor.

 

He pulled his hips back and rammed into her.  She let out a high pitched grunt, he could feel her trying to roll her hips under his hands to try and meet him.  No longer the trepidatious almost-woman who shook with apprehension and suppressed eagerness, he felt her grabbing at his back and shoulders, her lips met his in a forceful embrace.  Her tongue snaked against his with a passion of one who knew what she wanted and was not afraid to go after it.  Her legs pulled his hips at her, her back arching against the wall to give her more leverage.  He pumped violently, his entire being only conscious of his manhood devouring her.  HIs climax had come upon him quickly and violently.  He’d ground himself inside her as far as he could get, the head of his shaft hitting her in her deepest of places as he swelled and erupted, like blood gushing from an artery.

 

Then he had come back to himself, the feeling of a warm body against him seemed to be more intense than the sun beating down on him on a summer day.  He pulled his head back, and Nikka’s breath came in ragged gulps, the look on her face was...he could not identify the emotion.  It was almost like awe, akin worship, bare desire, a sweet smile, but it was not quite any of those things.  “Saki,” she whispered, her voice sounding just as her face looked, “I lo--”   He’d pressed his lips against her again, sucked the words out of her before they left her mouth and were said in the open air, never to be taken back again.

 

The night had been slow and gentle after that, the wild animal sated with a meal, its belly full of warm meat and blood.  He had moved Karai to the couch in the other room of the suite, he and Nikka had then taken the bed.  He recalled the feel of another body next to his, skin touching him in a way that had nothing to do with combat, a new sensation, something amazing and young, just as it had been when he was a young man first experiencing it.  He’d been unable to perform again that night, though Nikka didn’t give any indication that she minded.  Her fingers traced the contours of his body, her eyes heavy lidded, that same look that he could not identify on her face.   Eventually Karai had wandered back into the bedroom.  Saki had slept with Nikka on one side, his beautiful Karai on the other while his heart stormed like a pubescent boy with the thoughts of a grown man.

 

His beautiful Karai, tiny and ferocious, had come to him in the night, something she was not able to do often.  And now, now she was this  thing , unable to gain comfort or give comfort from anything.

 

“I will avenge you, Karai,” he promised.  “Hamato Yoshi will pay.”

  
  
  



	17. Chapter 17

Even ancient, The Lady Asakami was an imposing sight.   She glided across the grass of the graveyard as if her feet did not touch the ground. Grace dripped from her every movement.  Her white hair was put up in an elegant bun, her wrinkled face held wickedly clear black eyes, her lips, still the stain of dark red she had always preferred, impassive.  At 5’10”, she towered over most of the men about her, with her back straight and her black dress sweeping the ground.  Being helped out of the car by her steward was the only show of weakness the old woman gave.  Saki had to admit, he was impressed. 

 

Her entrance to the funeral service rivaled the actual event.  Miyabi stopped short of the actual gravestones, looking from side to side imperiously  as if she could not see Nikka plainly among those gathered.  Though Nikka, at Saki’s side, did not seem to either mind or notice. Her visage was blank, like a mannequin.  She merely turned around, and upon seeing her shishou, put her hands at her sides and bowed.  She closed her eyes slowly, as if she had to make them do it.  It made Saki uncomfortable, he did not like to see the normally vibrant woman barely emote.

 

"Baba-sama!"  Greta cried, escaping Aya's grasp and running up to the old woman.  The baby’s smile contrasted sharply with the dour and grieving faces gathered about the gravesite.  She and her brother had been playing among the gravestones not even a half an hour before, trying to tag each other, squealing with delight.  The display garnered a great deal of nasty looks from those attending, though Nikka had not seemed bothered by them, either.  He saw no reason to stop what they were doing.   Saki strongly suspected that the closed casket that held their father was quite beyond their comprehension.

 

Her brother grabbed Greta before she was able to run to Miyabi’s legs.  “You have to be careful!” he told her.  “She’s a thousand years old!”

 

Aya gasped, coming to stand behind the children.  Saki had not prepared himself for a family spat, and this was hardly the place for one,  Despite the fact the woman is probably somewhere closer to a thousand years old than to one hundred.   The tension that was already thick among those who were gathered, ratcheted up exponentially.

 

The old woman smiled, not bending down,  but merely lowering her head to look at them, ignored Aya altogether.  “And who told you that?” she said, reaching out two gnarled hands to each of them. 

 

“Mommy!” cried Greta.

 

Miyabi gave Nikka a cold look, who came to stand next to Aya, as if the entire occasion were in honor of Asakami Miyabi, and not David Eustace.  “Your mother is wrong, Ashton,” she said.  “I am ten thousand years old.  And I will live another ten thousand.”  She smiled, looking up at her daughter once again.  Nikka smiled back wanly, the two obviously sharing a private joke.

 

It was as if the air itself breathed a sigh of relief.

Miyabi then opened her arms and Nikka fell into them, reminding Saki of when she was a young almost-woman, and how she would do the same thing when something traumatic happened to her.   Despite Nikka having pulled in on herself, despite her acting like a robot, compared to Miyabi she was full of life, bright and rosy.  Miyabi’s skin was sallow compared to Nikka’s her hair brittle, her stern face bitter.

 

Among Nikka’s people in the small gathering, in addition to her mother and the Lady Asakami’s entourage, was Raiku.   Her current employer, a Greek fellow, was at her side, several people, whom Saki assumed were her students, milling about her.  It unnerved him to see she and Nikka together, much the same way it had unnerved him when Nikka had first arrived in New York City, only to have a life somewhere else outside of the Foot Clan or House Asakami.  When they embraced, Nikka’s hair, neither brown nor blonde, seemed especially pale next to Raiku’s black locks.  It was the younger of the two who was now taller, by only half an inch or so, when his memory told him it should be the other way around.  Upon seeing him, Raiku had bowed elegantly, all of her training still in place, and addressed him as ‘sensei’.

 

She took her place now at the other side of  her shishou, who stood a little off the side so that Nikka herself was front of center.  Each of her children were at her side, Aya slightly behind her where her handmaiden should have been.  Why she did not bring her, Saki did not know.  Perhaps she felt that he being with her was enough.  The  geijutsuka wore a plain black dress, with high heels, the jeweled symbol of The Foot Clan at her throat.

 

The graveside service of David Eustace was short and sweet,  Thankfully, Saki thought.   It was as morbid and gray as all graveside services were, with everyone dressed in black.  The minister said his piece, then backed away to allow Nikka and the two children to each place a white chrysanthemum blossom in the plot on top of the closed casket.   He stepped away from Nikka’s side, as did Miyabi and Raiku, as those present began to file past them, giving the widow their condolences.  She said little, occasionally smiling gratefully, kissing each passerby on the cheek with a gracious flick of her lips.   The consummate actress, he admired.   Even now.

 

“How long has she been like this?” Miyabi asked him, putting her hand on his arm.  

 

He had to resist the urge to take the old, gnarled hand that touched him and crush it to dust in his own.  “Since the night of the accident.”

 

Miyabi shook her head, “Not long then,” she said, as if speaking to herself.  She then chuckled morosely, “Let’s hope it isn’t you that snaps her out of it, eh, Saki?”

 

He barely turned his head to give her a disdainful glance and did not deem to answer in reply.

 

Ahh,  Saki noted,  finally,  David’s parents.   An elderly couple approached Nikka, the man having his arm around the woman, her pale face was twisted in dolor, his eyes were filled with a frightened anger.   You do not know how to wear wrath, old man, Saki wanted to scoff at him.   It looks like a jacket that is too large for your skinny, little shoulders.

 

Ashton, still holding Nikka’s hand, smiled shyly, “Nana, Grampa.” he said.  Greta buried her face in Aya’s shoulder, turning her pale, blond head to them.

 

The old woman looked from Aston to Greta as if each one were a slap in her face.   Very little of her son was present in their looks, with their big blue eyes and pale hair.   “You,” she pointed at Nikka, her face beginning to turn red, “destroyed my son’s life!”

 

Saki waited for Nikka to give them a scathing reply, but all she did was blink at them as Aston buried himself in his mother’s dress, squeezing his eyes shut. 

 

“Because of you, my son is dead.” Her body began to shake.  

 

“Because of my daughter,” Miyabi Asakami came forward authoritatively, folding Nikka in her arms like death come to claim its victim, “your son  lived.  If it were not for my daughter, your son would have wasted away staring up at the stars.  If it were not for my daughter, your son would never have known anything other than numbers and symbols.  If it were not for my daughter, your son would have died alone.”  Her voice was calm, yet the practice cadence of it still penetrated the ears of those around her.

 

“If not for your daughter, he wouldn’t have died!” Mrs. Eustace screeched, thrusting her finger at Miyabi.  Mr. Eustace tightened his arm about his wife, his lips a pallid line.

 

Miyabi smiled, one that Saki was all too familiar with,  the kind that one smiles when they know something that the rest of those around do not.  “It is time for you to go home,” she said firmly.  “You never want to lay eyes on any of us ever again.”

 

The air about them took a moment to breath, before Mr. Eustace gently pulled on his wife. “Come on,” he said, as if it were his idea, “let’s go home.”

 

Mrs. Eustace shook her head vehemently, looking at each of them in turn.  “I never want to lay eyes on any of you again!”   She spat at Nikka’s feet before turning and walking away.  Neither of them looked back as they stormed off.

 

They were all quiet as the older couple walked away, Nikka with her head on Miyabi’s shoulder looking at the ground where her mother-in-law’s spittle lay, her hand on Ashton’s head.   If that does not snap her out of this stupor,   he wondered apprehensively,  then what will take for her to do so?  He did not like it.  She had a job to do, and she couldn’t do it if she was catatonic.

 

Miyabi made a derisive sound.  “What barbarians,” she muttered, turning Nikka around so she was facing away from the grave.

 

“Do you have a place to stay, Shishou?” Raiku asked, “If not, you can come and stay with us.”  She gestured to her own little retinue.  

 

“I won’t be staying,” Miyabi said.  She sighed heavily as Nikka and Raiku looked at her questioningly.  “My doctor has forbid me to travel.  He would have a fit if he knew I was in the States”

 

Her steward snickered.   If Saki had been inclined to do such things, he would have also.  No one forbid The Lady Asakami do to anything, ever.  If she chose not to stay, it was her own decision, not that of a doctor’s.  

 

“Yes,” she said to the man with her, with a sidelong glance.  “I have an appointment with him in Sado tomorrow.”

 

“You’re not staying even for a little bit, Baba-sama?” Ashton asked.

 

She looked down at him with a sweet smile and shining eyes.  “I can’t, little love.”   It rankled Saki, slightly, he was not sure why.  He did not want her to stay, certainly not with him.  While he had never played host to her, he doubted it was a pleasant experience.  It would delay his plans, set his timetable off.  Though he was patient, he had waited years, after all, there was no need to wait any longer than necessary.  However, her quick dismissal of Nikka chafed, like an uneven seam in a shirt.

 

He should not have been surprised by it.  Miyabi had done nothing to bring Nikka out of her head when these types of episodes happened before, why should he expect her to do so now?   Because it is her daughter, he said to himself.  He knew the preciousness of a daughter and the ache that gripped a father’s heart when she was hurt.  Did Asakami Miyabi not feel the same thing?

 

Miyabi kissed her hand and then touched the boy’s forehead.  “But your mother will bring you to Japan soon to see me, won’t you?”  She looked up at her daughter, the sweetness, though not the smile, gone.

 

Aya looked to Saki, her eyes alight. Luck was smiling on him, even today.  He nodded to her, almost imperceptibly.  But she was one of his  ninja , she could see it.

 

“Why don’t we go now?” Aya piped up.  “It can leave you to finish up any business you have, Mistress,” she said to Nikka.

 

“Now?” the  geijutsuka  asked.

 

“Pweese!” cried Greta.  “Pweese go with Baba-sama!”

 

“It will do them good,” Saki said, putting his hand on Nikka’s other shoulder and bending down to speak in her ear.  “They can forget this tragedy for a while, spending time with their grandmother.”

 

There was a moment of silence, as Nikka, her face devoid of emotion, stared at Aya as if she weren’t there.  “Their passports are with their other papers,” she said finally.  “You will have a good time in Sado,” she bent down, kissed and embraced both of them.  “You can meet Baba-sama at the plane, after you pack your bags.”

 

“It is good to know I am consulted about such things,” Miyabi said dryly.  She then braced Nikka’s face with her palm, “You will come visit me too, soon.”   Nikka nodded.  “You too,” Miyabi looked at Saki.  “It is your home, as much as ours.”

 

Saki nodded at the invitation, but said nothing.

 

The old woman then kissed Nikka’s forehead, doing the same with Raiku, and glanced once more at Saki, before gliding gracefully back to her car.

 

Once the children and Miyabi were gone, Raiku looked about conspicuously, “Where are your students, Bironika?”

 

In a lifeless voice, Nikka replied, “I don’t have any students.”

 

Raiku took a half-step back, her eyebrows raised.  Saki noticed her lick her lips.  “I mean, why aren’t they here?”  Her voice was soft and encouraging.

 

Nikka looked at her with large blue eyes.  “I don’t have any to be here,” she answered.

 

The woman looked at the group with her, obviously her own students. “Oh,” she replied, a confused look on her face.  The disconnect between his understanding and that of those around him made him uncomfortable, so that heat began to build in his chest.  Was this simply another example of the mountain he had climbed, that he was looking so far down upon those around him that could not  see?  Or had he simply not noticed it before, always being the setting of the Asakami Estate, their own plans on the periphery of his?   Their lives were unravelling around them, like a thread being pulled from an incomplete tapestry.  Even Nikka, whose eyes and replies were that of Cassandra of Troy could see what was going on around her, whether she liked it or not.  Raiku glanced at Saki with a worried expression then back to Nikka.  “Will you be going back to Sado after dealing with your affairs?” she asked.

 

Nikka shook her head.  “No, I’ll stay here, I think.”

 

Again Raiku looked up at Saki, surprise in her eyes.  “Oh,” she smiled, putting her arm on the widow’s.  “That’s good, Bironika.”

 

“You can always come back to Athens with me,” the Greek man said, Saki had not caught his name when they were all introduced.  “Raiku has told me a great deal about you,” The Greek looked at Raiku fondly.  “She says you are even better than she is, if that can believed.”

 

Did the man just offer  his geijutsuka a job in front of him?

 

Raiku laughed, “Oh, Statin, Bironika does not work on retainer.”  She looked to Nikka with a smug smile.  “She only works on a job by job basis.  Which is why,” she glanced at Saki, “she can demand such a high price.”

 

“Well,” said Statin, “if you get tired of Japanese food,” he nodded to Saki, “Greek cuisine is very fine.”

 

“You cannot afford me,” Nikka said abruptly.

 

Saki chuckled at the man’s shocked look.  “I can,” he said, putting his arm about Nikka’s shoulder and steering her back to the car.

 

“Saki, I don’t like Raiku,” Nikka said lifelessly to her reflection in the glass as she looked out the window at the passing city.

 

He reached over, his fingers on her chin, and turned her to face him.  “You have never liked Raiku,” he said.

 

“I very much don’t like that man she’s with,” Nikka’s voice was still robotic.  “She has been on his retainer for almost ten years now.”

 

Even thousands of miles away, they’re all in each other’s business, he thought, though he simply looked at her expectantly.

 

As she looked into his eyes, he could feel her ki shrinking even more, so it was only around her physical body and nowhere else.   “Why do you have no students?” he asked her, grasping for something to hold her in the here and now.  Being trapped in one’s mind for too long was a dangerous thing, he knew, but he banished the thought as it had come to him.

 

“I have never met anyone whom I found worthy of me as their teacher,” she answered.

 

That response surprised him, he would not have expected it to come from her.  She still appeared to be in love with her shishou, unworthy of anything greater than the old woman.  While she may be Miyabi’s jewel, she was not Miyabi herself.  “The Lady Asakami has taken students that were not worthy of you as their teacher,” he said slowly.  

 

“I am not The Lady Asakami,” she said distantly.

 

He bent down so his face was close to hers.  As always, she looked into both of his eyes with equal measure, and a far-removed gratitude dropped into the space between his thoughts.  “You are a hundred times greater than the Lady Asakami,” he said, his deep voice barely above a whisper.  “She is not worthy to have you as her student.”

 

As the words came out, fear gripped him.  He had never spoken against Asakami Miyabi out loud before, doing so seemed akin to a sacrilege.  Though the old woman’s reach was short and weak, it had been she who had opened his eyes to what his life could become, it was her prized pupil to whom he spoke now.  She had never shown a shred of disloyalty to her mistress.

 

When she did not reply, he continued, his heart thumping in his chest at his words.  He could feel destiny about him as he spoke, that familiar feeling of being on the path that would lead him to greatness.  It was always a dangerous trail, thin and sharp, that could be fallen from at any moment to one’s death.  But what kind of ninja was he, that he not dare to walk it?

 

She reached up and put her palm gently on the side of his face, “Saki,” she said, her voice matching his in its volume, if not it’s feeling.  “She is not worthy to be a  geijutsuka period.”

 


	18. Chapter 18

Casey laid on his bed staring at his phone.  April wasn’t texting him back, she was having ‘family time’ with her dad. 

Casey's own father cheered and jeered at the TV with every score or miss.  Casey rolled his eyes.  Unless the sport was hockey, he didn't care about it.  Hockey season as the only time of year he felt close to his father.  The rest of the time was simply fighting, insults, and waiting for hockey season to come back around.

Raph wasn’t texting him, he was on a mission.  Casey felt his cheeks burn when he thought about it.  He was rarely asked to go with them anymore, Raph was hanging out with his brothers more and more, and with Casey less and less.  It wasn’t that Casey didn’t like hanging out with everyone else.  He did.  But he wanted a mission, he wanted to fight the bad guys, and he wanted to do it with Raph, like they used to.   He didn’t know if his sister was asleep in her room or not, but he couldn’t go out until his father was sleeping.  Ever since the invasion, his dad had become more aware of his son’s whereabouts.  Or he tried to, at least.

He stared at the smiling picture of Alice DeNapoli.  It had been three days since he’d saved her from The Purple Dragons, and she said he could call her.  Was three days a long enough wait?  His finger lingered over the text icon on his phone.  He felt vaguely guilty, as if he were cheating on April if he texted her.  _ That’s dumb, Jones , _ he told himself.  He pressed the text icon and stared at the blank screen.    _ April isn’t my girlfriend, shoot, half the time I can’t even tell if she likes me or not.    And it isn’t like I’m asking Alice out on a date. Besides, she’s twenty-two. _

** Hey ** , he typed.  Then he pressed send.

He waited.  It seemed like an eternity that he waited, and he was about to put the phone down, feeling like a fool for even doing it, when he heard it ding.

** Alice DeNapoli:  Hey thr, u. **

Casey heart thumped in his chest.   She texted back!

** Casey Jones:  Checkin’ up on u.  U OK? **

** Alice DeNapoli:  U r a sweetie.  Yep, just moping bout bf.  Riting songs. **

** Casey Jones:  Y?  U said he didn’t pay attention 2 u. **

** Alice DeNapoli: He didn’t.  That doesn’t mean I didn’t like him.   My feelings r  hurt. **

Casey’s mind started running in circles, he’d hurt her feelings?  Why didn’t he ask her about her songs instead?     Crap, why is this so hard?  All I’m doing is talking to some woman, and I’m messing it up!  He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t mess it up, but he couldn’t mess it up!  He sighed with relief when his phone dinged again.

Alice DeNapoli:  He was my bf.  Losing him hurts.

Casey Jones:  Yeah, I can see how that hurts.

Alice DeNapoli:  U ask that girl out, yet?

Casey blushed.  He couldn’t believe he told her about April!  And Donnie!  And Raph!  She was just so easy to talk to.  She listened to him and she cared what he had to say.   She didn’t try to fob off his feelings like everyone else did.  He’d been really surprised after talking with her that night, that the next morning he realized, nobody cared about how he felt about anything.   It had left him feeling lonelier than he had in a long time.   After the closeness he’d shared with his friends over the winter, it made the loneliness even worse.

** Casey Jones: No... **

** Alice DeNapoli: 4 Cokes didn’t make u brave? J **

** Casey Jones:  LOL!  She’s busy. **

** Alice DeNapoli:  2 busy 4 u? **

** Casey Jones:  She spends a lot of time with her dad. **

** Alice DeNapoli: U r cooler than her dad. **

** Casey Jones:  Tell me about it!  **

** Alice DeNapoli:  U fighting bad guys 2nite? **

** Casey Jones: Not yet. **

** Alice DeNapoli:  I’m lonely.  Wanna drink with me? **

_ She’s lonely, and she’s asking me if I want to do something with her!  _  His fingers tingled with excitement.

** Casey Jones:  Drink?  Beer? **

** Alice DeNapoli:  LOL!  If u want. **

** She was offering to buy him beer.  But she laughed beforehand.  Was she trying to figure out how mature he was by asking him?  What was the right answer?  Was he mature enough to drink beer?  Or was the answer to drink soda instead? **

** Casey Jones:  U like Coke, right? **

** Alice DeNapoli:  Yes.  **

** Casey Jones:  U drink beer? **

** Alice DeNapoli: Sometimes **

_ Come on, Jones, _ he told himself .  _ Think of something to say before she changes her mind! _  He jumped as his phone beeped, indicating an incoming text.

** Alice DeNapoli: I’ll bring both. **

** Casey Jones:  Cool! **

_ Did I just text cool?  How uncool!  She’s gonna think I’m a dork!  She’s gonna say something has come up, she’s gonna— _

** Alice DeNapoli:  C u at the hangout. **

Now he felt like a complete dweeb.  His dad was still awake! But he had to tell her that he had to wait until the game was over or she’d think that he stood her up.  That would be worse than having to admit it.   A surge of rebellion crashed into him.  No, he wasn’t going to admit it, because he wasn’t going to do it.

** Casey Jones: k **

He needed a plan to get out of here while his dad was still up.  Crap, I’m no good at plans!  April was good at plans.  April!  He felt a twinge of guilt again, but he shook it away, and it was replaced by anger.  It wasn’t like April wouldn’t do something with Donnie in a heartbeat and this was nothing like that.  However, what would April do if she needed to sneak out at night?

The thought materialized in his head as if he had a psychic link with the teenage girl and she had telepathically given him the idea.  He put on his pajamas and made a loud show of getting ready for bed.  He gargled as he brushed his teeth, put the water on full blast as he washed his face, and made sure to flap his feet on the floor as he put the washcloth in the dirty clothes hamper, something he did not normally do.  “Night, Dad,” he said as he passed the den, making sure to go in between the TV and his father.

“Night, Case,” his father mumbled, not looking away from the television set.  “Ahh, ya moron!  Didn’t you see that?!” he yelled at it.

Casey smiled as he went back to his room.  That was easier than he thought.  He put his vigilante clothes on, you never knew what you might meet, even to a social call.  Then he headed out his open window.

He arrived at the abandoned apartment complex before Alice did.  _ Is that going to look uncool? _ he wondered.  He could play it off suave, like he was here to protect her.  Or he could go outside and wait for her to arrive, and then jump down like he’d just gotten there.  Or he could…

“You’re here!” Alice’s Brooklyn accent came drifting over the walls.  “I brought refreshments.”

He turned around and saw her holding up a six pack of beer and a six pack of Coke.  She wore the same hat she did the other day, but today she had on a plaid skirt which ended just above her knees, a white collar, button-up blouse, and her black combat boots. Her guitar case was strapped around her back.  “Cool!” he squeaked. _ Did my voice just do that?  Stop being a goober, Jones! _  He cleared his throat, and repeated, in a much deeper voice, “Cool.”

She smiled at him, and it seemed to him that her whole face glowed when she did, her brown eyes shining.  “You seem kind of jumpy,” she said, flopping down on the beanbag without shaking it out first.  “You OK?”

“Yeah,” he answered quickly.  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

She motioned to the bean bag next to her.  “Take a load off,” she held a beer out to him, “have a drink.”

He sat down, taking the proffered can.  “Yngling?” he read the label. 

“The first American beer,” she said, opening her own can.  “None of that foreign piss water.”

Casey opened his can and took a swig in what he hoped was a practiced manner.  He didn’t know why he was so nervous.  He’d drank beer before.  Plenty of times.  Just not with a pretty girl.  With a guitar.  Alone.  In an abandoned apartment building.   O _ h my god, she’s got a guitar! _ The thought seemed to pop into his head by itself, accompanied with the urge to squeal. _ Stop being a doofus, Jones! _ he told himself.  He hoped he listened.  “You write any new songs?” he asked.   _ Do I sound casual? _

“I’ve written lots of new songs,” she said with a dramatic sigh.  “Turmoil is good fodder for songs.”

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence before he got the guts to ask, “Uh, I’m a good listener if you want to play one.”

She looked at him and smiled, biting her lip in that way that he liked girls biting their lips, it made them look half sweet and half sassy.  “You can come to one of my coffeehouse concerts to hear one I’ve already written,” she said.  He felt disappointment funnel through him like a cartoon.  “But,” she added, as the sensation reached his chest, “you can help me write one I’m stuck on.”

The drained feeling did a three-sixty and the meter shot right out of his head.  Other body parts were shifting upward too, so that he changed his position in the bean bag.

“No,” she said, and the meter began moving back down. “Let’s write a song together, from the beginning.”

His brown eyes went wide, “Really?” he asked.   _ Dammit, Jones!  Stop being a dumbass! _ He cleared his throat.  “Sure,” he said, in what he hoped was a cooler voice.

She grinned and he blushed.  She’d caught him in his excitement and it both embarrassed and pleased him.  She was paying attention to him, close enough attention that she noticed his slip.   How cool!

“Let’s write a song about friends,” she said.

He blinked.  He hadn’t expected that.  He was expecting a love song, or an angry song, or a break up song.  A song about friends?  “Sure,” he said slowly.

“No?” she asked, positioning her guitar on her lap.  “We can write a song about that girl you like.”

”Nahh,” he waved his hand.   Why’d you have to tell her about April?  He felt suddenly guilty, the feeling of cheating coming upon him again.   _ She’s not your girlfriend, _ he told himself.   _ And it isn’t like you’ve got a chance in hell with Alice. _  But, she had invited him here.  It was just the two of them.  And she didn’t treat him like a little kid.

Her brown eyes twinkled.  “What kind of song would you like to write?”  When he didn’t answer right away, she said, “You know you get kudos on the CD cover if you help.”  She winked.  “It’s bad luck not to mention your muses in your art.  No matter what your art may be.”  She pointed at him with her can of beer.

_ Dammit Jones, think of something! _

It was obviously taking him too long to think of something, because Alice leaned forward, and squinted her eyes mischievously.  “What does anger feel like to you?” she asked quietly.

He stared at her stupefied, he knew he looked like an idiot.   _ Holy crow, can she read minds?! _  She laughed.  _ Oh, she has a pretty laugh. _

“That’s what songs are made of, Casey,” she said.  “Strong emotions.  I know you have some anger in you.”

His heart sputtered when she said his name.

“What makes you angry?”

Suddenly, his mind when blank except for the question she asked.  He leaned forward, almost spilling his beer, he wanted to tell her so badly.  He wanted to tell her everything that made him angry, that ever made him angry, that ever would make him angry.  He blurted out the first thing that came to his mind, images of Raph, Leo, Donnie, and Mikey, looking at him with dismissal.  Splinter, big ears and pink, clawed hands, telling him firmly that he was not to go out on the missions, that he was to stay there, with him, where it was safe.  April stroking his shoulder and looking at him with pity, as if he couldn’t take care of himself, as if he couldn’t take care of father and sister, as if he couldn’t take care of her.  He wasn’t even sorry after it left his mouth, “When people think I can’t fight.”

“ Where do you feel it?” she leaned in closer, her brown eyes wide, her lips full and scowling.

His body clenched all over at the question, before relaxing again in only a few places.  All he wanted to do was tell her, everywhere that he felt the tightness remain.  “In my chest,” he said.  “And my neck, and my mouth.  And my hands.”

“And  _ what _ does it feel like, when people think you can’t fight?”

Anger bubbled up in him, it happened so quickly and without provocation, that in the back of his mind, he was frightened.  He wanted to smash something, even if it was his own fist against one of the exposed beams on the wall.  He wanted to kick, the bean bag, her chair, the glass out of the window.  He wanted to grab her, because she was there, and crush her to his body, crush his lips to hers and bite down so he tasted blood and felt relief in his loins.  “It makes me want to fight them.”  He brought his fists up, his teeth clenching.  “I want to slug him so bad, sometimes.”

“Him who?” she asked quietly.

“Raph,” he answered, before his brain had time to process.

“Your best friend?” Alice asked , still scowling.

“Yeah,” he huffed, looking away from her, taking another swig of his beer.  He felt the tingle of the alcohol down his throat, warming his belly.  “He thinks I can’t do it.  He thinks I can’t keep up with him, just because he’s --“ he stopped short, clamping his mouth shut, his eyes going wide.

Alice raised an eyebrow, “He’s a what?”

_ Jones!  What’s the matter with you? _  “Uh,” he searched desperately for something to say.  _ A ninja?  A turtle?  A mutant? _ “He’s a jerk, sometimes.”

Nodding, Alice took another swig of her beer.  Casey followed suit, but found his can was empty.  Alice, too, her phone out.  “What’s he look like?”

“Raph?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, looking over at her screen.  It was on the word processing app.  “Being my therapist or something?”

She laughed, so that he felt his heart sink.  “No, silly,” she said.  “We’re going to write a song.”

“On a word processing app?”   You’re so dumb, Jones!  Why did he feel so dumb around her?

“The words,” she took another drink of her beer.  “Is yours empty?” she asked.  He held it up and nodded.  She reached to give him another.  “You drink fast.”

Slow down your drinking, Jones, he warned himself.   _ You’re looking like an amateur. _   “I got thirsty getting here,” he said.  “I get to enjoy this one.” 

“So what’s he look like?” she pressed.

Taking a drink, he shrugged.  How would he describe Raph to someone?  “He’s got green eyes,” he started, then stopped.

“What color hair?”

“Uh...he doesn’t have any hair,” he said slowly.

Alice gave him a sidelong look.  “He shaves his head?”

“It looks good on him,” his voice picked up speed.  “I mean, it suits him.  He’s not, like, prejudiced or nothing.”   _ How can he be?  He’s green for Pete’s sake! _

“Ok,” Alice said defensively.  “I didn’t say he was.”  Casey drank some more beer so he could break eye contact with her.  “So, what is distinctive about him?”

“I dunno,” Casey shrugged.  “He’s really strong.  He doesn’t like to listen to anyone else.  He’s real bullheaded.”  He looked at Alice longingly, did she understand?  “But sometimes, that bullheadedness comes in really handy.  Like, when he wants to learn something new or get something done.”

She smirked and nodded.

“But he’s just so...uhhhh!”   He clenched his jaw again, balling his fists.   “He’s thinks he’s so much better than me!”

She reached out and put a finger on his lips, leaning forward, so close he could feel her breath on his face, though it was cold by the time it reached him.  His breath hitched, as he fought the urge to stick his tongue out and taste her flesh.  “I’ve got it,” she said.  She sat up quickly and thrust her phone at him.  “You write, while I compose.”

He turned the phone sideways to make the larger keyboard pop up,  and she began to strum her guitar, humming as she did.  Then, she broke out into a tune rough and discordant, singing:

 

Rage builds in me

heat explodes from my chest

up my neck

to my jaw

down to my arms

to my fists

 

Your emerald eyes are filled with disdain

You think I can’t do it

can’t do what you do.

I was doing it

before I met you,

before I knew you,

Yet you think I can’t do it,

can’t do what you do.

 

Anger builds in me

The explosion makes me shake

my body tight

I can’t breath

with you pressing my anger

back against my own skin

 

Your emerald eyes are filled with disdain

You think I can’t do it

can’t do what you do.

I was doing it

before I met you,

before I knew you,

Yet you think I can’t do it,

can’t do what you do.

 

She stopped playing, took the guitar from her lap, looking up at him through her dark, lush eyelashes, her chocolate brown eyes lined in thick kohl.  “Did you get all that?”

He stared at her.  It took a moment for a thought to form in his head.  “Yeah,” he said finally, handing her back the phone.

She took it, looked down at it, then back up at him beaming.  All he could do was smile back at her.  She grabbed another can of beer, popped it open, and held it up.  “To the music!”

He clinked his can to hers. “To the music!” he exclaimed.  Then the two of them downed the malt and hops beverage.

When they came up for breath, she looked at him fondly, like a someone who hadn’t seen him in a long time and  wanted to see him.  Not someone he had to force himself on.  “See?” she said.  “You wrote a song about friends after all.”

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

 

_ The Lair is filled with music nowadays, if one is still long enough to listen _ _._  Tiger Claw sat in the shadows doing just that, his remaining yellow eye seeing clearly in the dark of the Throne Room.  This time of night, when the nightlife of the city was beginning, but the day had already ended, was when the music was most frequent.  It was a haunting sound, often hollow and distant, pulling at one's chest like a fish on a line.   He wondered if the sailors of Greek myth felt this way when the sirens sang to them at sea.

 

Sometimes the music was a harp, or a guitar, or a biwa.   Sometimes it was a flute, or a recorder, or a piccolo.  Sometimes it was the cello or violin.  Sometimes it was accompanied by voice and sometimes it was only voice.   Tonight it was the piano, along with a ghostly trill singing lyrics to an unfinished song.

 

_ “I have loved the stars too fondly _

_ to be frightened of the dark,” _

_ Galileo told you, _

_ You told me, too, _

_ and I laughed. _

_ I played Universe Symphony, _

_ a violin at my chin. _

_ You missed the last movement, _

_ Dark Matter, _

_ as you slipped out of the hall. _

_ You brought me back flowers…." _

 

Almost a week ago, Sid and Tsoi had complained loudly at having to haul the baby grand piano into the space that Master Shredder designated as the Music Room.   

 

"I didn't think this gig was gonna turn us into piano movers,"  Tsoi said.   "Unless we were dropping them on somebody."

 

"Master Shredder was never interested in music before,” Sid muttered.

 

"Shut up and keep moving," said Fong, holding the piano seat precariously in his arms.

 

"It’s not for Lord Shredder, " said Hun smoothly "It is for Lady Veronika."

 

"He wasn't interested in music before," Sid complained again.

 

"Lord Shredder says jump,"  Hun had said.  "You ask, ‘How high?’”

 

Hun was ascending the ladder of the Foot Clan at too quick of a clip.  Tiger Claw needed to keep his eye on that one.  He had his sunglass-covered eyes on the mutant’s position, he was sure.

 

The notes and voice, now merely drifted into the Throne Room, like background music.  Over the past few days, Tiger Claw had learned to deduce when Master Shredder was listening to it while sitting on his throne, or if his mind was elsewhere.  When he listened, he tilted his head ever so slightly to the side and forward, as if his ear were reaching for the notes that drifted through the air.  When he was meditating or thinking, his head was upright, his back straight.

 

Tiger Claw had seen The Shredder enter the music room occasionally, door open, and place his large hand on Mistress Veronika’s delicate shoulder, as he used to do with Karai when he approved of what it was she was doing.   She would stop her playing and turn to speak with him, a relieved look on her pale face, as if he’d pulled her out out of a strong current that was washing her out to sea to drown.   Then there were times when he entered the room, closing the door to behind him.  When it was quiet of music and talking, one could only conjecture as to what was happening inside.

 

Despite her robotic state, each of them was still to report to her, after they reported to Master Shredder, of course.  She would ask them to recount their adventures in detail, asking questions that he would not have thought important.  “Which way did he turn when he threw the shuriken?”  Or “Did he draw both swords at the same time, or one first, then later the other?”  She wrote everything down by hand on a legal pad.   When she was not playing music, she was writing up psychological profiles.  The Shredder had had him read one on Leonardo.  It, too, was hand written, He was honestly surprised at how accurate she was, despite the  geijutsuka  having never met him.

 

The tiger mutant was under no illusion that she was not also compiling psychological profiles on all of them.  It gave him the chills to think what might be in the manilla folder that held his name.

 

The mistress was not excluded from reporting, either.   At her last job, meeting Casey Jones at the abandoned apartment building, her chosen r den in which to lure the boy, she had left impassive and returned just as emotionless.   She sent her handmaid to tell Master Shredder she had returned.   He had commanded her to tell her mistress to meet him in his rooms and that had been the last they'd seen of him that night. 

 

The Foot Clan that was in NYC had fallen, once again, into a rhythm, the slight upheaval of Mistress Veronika’s arrival dying down to incorporate her into the flow of things.

 

Now, however, Master Shredder opened his eyes, they seemed to glow in the dim light of the throne room.  He stood up from his throne. “It is time,” he announced.  Tiger Claw, Bradford, and Xever each stood up and took up behind him.

 

The ride to the docks was refreshing.  The night was cool, the wind flowing through Tiger Claw's fur brisk as he maneuvered his motorcycle behind Master Shredder's.   When they reached the water, they cruised the wooden dock until they came,  in full view with motors roaring, upon a group of swarthy men loading a tanker. 

 

They dismounted,approaching the guns now pointed at them.   

 

“My god, it’s true,” he heard one of them say.  “Monsters in New York.”

 

Another short olive-skinned man came forward.  His white shirt almost gleamed in the low light, making him seem even darker skinned that he probably was.  It was open slightly at the chest, revealing curls of hair.   He had no gun and an Asian woman, dressed in a Mandarin inspired dress, was by his side.  "I think all of you have lost your way," she said smoothly.   "Why don't you go about your evening and forget about being at the docks." 

 

Tiger Claw saw Bradford and Xever turn to leave.   He let out an audible growl.   What were the two of them thinking?   The two henchmen stopped at the sound of his voice and blinked.  Master Shredder simply stood, staring at the unarmed man. 

 

"You want to leave, now!" the woman commanded. 

 

Tiger Claw felt a tickling in his mind,  like a tendril in the shape of the word 'leave'.   This woman was a  _ geijutsuka _ , also _!_ Why had Master Shredder not come with Mistress Veronika?

 

"No" Shredder said quietly.  “I don’t.”   

 

At the same time,  Tiger Claw grabbed at the dog and the fish,  a surge of anger waving through him at forcing him to turn his back to the enemy.   The two of them would pay for forcing him to leave himself so vulnerable.  He swung them both forward, so they were now in front of him.

 

The woman's eyes went wide. 

 

"Who the hell are you and what do want?"  asked the unarmed man in a thick Greek accent.   He looked from each mutant to the other, then the other, then back to the armored human. 

 

"Not leaving the States so soon,  Statin?"

 

The woman gasped and the man stood up straight.   It did little to increase his height.   "What do you want?"  he asked,  his voice shaking. 

 

"You are a successful business man," The Shredder said.   "I wish to talk business." 

 

The Asian woman clutched at the Greek man's arm.   “Statin,” she whispered fiercely.  “Talk business.”

 

“You want to talk business, out here, while I load my ships, Metal Man?” Statin asked.

 

The Shredder took a step forward, his blades extracting from his gauntlets with the swing of his arm.  He moved so quickly, Tiger Claw knew that Statin only saw a blur, if even that, in the night.  Shredder placed the middle blade under Statin’s chin, darkened with a five o’clock shadow.  The woman at his side let out an audible gasp, releasing his arm and taking a large step away from him.  The armed men all pointed their guns at The Shredder, the air filling with the clicks of safeties releasing.  In turn, the three mutants pointed their weapons at the humans. The air fell silent, except for the lapping water against the docks..

 

“You play a dangerous game,” The Shredder said, “with a dangerous opponent.  Are you sure you want to do that?”

 

Statin’s brown eyes were wide, the whites beaming like his shirt.   He waved his hand for his men to lower their weapons.  They did, slowly, as he said,  “Of course, I am willing to talk business whenever there is money to be made.”

 

Shredder removed the blade from his chin and Tiger Claw, Bradford, and Xever lowered their weapons.  “You have something I want to obtain.”

 

“I can sell you something,” Statin nodded his head.  “What do you want?”

 

“I want to obtain something,” Shredder repeated.  “Not  buy, anything.”

 

Statin glanced over at the woman, not moving his head.  “Uh, you want my cargo?”  He gestured to the ships.  “Go ahead.  It’s yours.”

 

“I want your trucking company,” Shredder said.

 

“My...my trucking company?” Statin’s eyebrows furrowed.  “You want me to give you my entire trucking company?”  His voice turned incredulous.

 

Tiger Claw came forward, bringing a manilla envelope out of his jacket.  He held it out to Statin, who took it gingerly.  

 

Opening it, he drew a set of papers out of it.  “This...this is a contract for me to hand over my company,” Statin said in disbelief. 

 

The woman came to stand by his side again, glancing down at the forms in his hand.   “You can’t just take what is not yours,” the woman said, her voice tainted with command.  “You must compensate him!!”

 

“You seem to think this is a negotiation,” Shredder said.  “If I were here to negotiate, I would have brought my own  geijutsuka.  But she,” a single blade slid from his gauntlet and rested under the papers, “has already done her negotiating.”

 

“Your Persuader,” Statin muttered, blinking rapidly.

 

Tiger Claw remembered Nikka giving him the papers, showing him the eight places Statin needed to sign.  She marked each with a small yellow tab.   “As soon as he as he signs each spot,” she’d told him in her unnatural voice, “you need to notarize it.”  She’d handed him an embossing tool. 

 

“Who is Sharon Kyowski?” Tiger Claw had asked, reading the name in the circle.

 

“I am,” Nikka had replied

 

“You?”  He furrowed his brow.

 

“She’s a notary public,” Nikka told him.  It made him uneasy, the words sounded as if they should have a sharp edge to them, of one annoyed, but they didn’t.  They were simply spoken as facts.  “She will sign it when you bring it back here.”

 

Statin looked to the tiger mutant.   

 

“It would behoove you,” Tiger Claw told him, “to sign it quickly.”

 

“Yeah,” Bradford muttered.  “It stinks of fish out here.”

 

Xever shot him a dirty look.

 

Tiger Claw smiled, but managed not to laugh.

 

With a shaking hand, Statin took a pen out of his shirt pocket and signed on each of the marked places.  As he did, Tiger Claw pressed the embosser down to signify the signature’s legality.

 

“Thank you,” The Shredder said cordially.  “Now, we have to deal with the business of you insulting me.”  One of his blades slid up next to Statin’s face.

 

“In--insulting you?” he stuttered, waving down his men as they drew their weapons again.  “That comment at the funeral?  I was joking,” he laughed nervously.  “I was trying to lighten the mood.”

 

“You failed,” Shredder said.  “I was not amused.”

 

“Are you ever amused?” a youthful voice quipped from behind them.

 

The members of The Foot Clan turned to see the four turtle ninja a few buildings down the block, all in fighting stances.  _ Cubs _ _,_ Tiger Claw scoffed,  _ with playthings too big for them.  The only reason their legs don’t shake is because they are too cocky to know better. _

 

“More monsters?” Statin’s voice was a good octave higher than it had been earlier.  “What has happened to this city?”  

 

The Shredder turned to the Greek, all three of his blades extended.  He brought his fist forward in a punch, impaling him through the gut.   His large, brown eyes went wide, looking down at his belly, and then collapsing to the ground as Shredder pulled his arm back.

 

Gun fire erupted in all directions and the woman screamed.

 

“He’s really not amused,” said Raphael, deadpan, dodging the shower of bullets as he rushed forward.

 

The Shredder batted two bullets away, the clinking of them on his blades dull compared to the louder noises surrounding them. “I will give you a headstart, Raiku.  For old time’s sake,” he said.  The woman ran from the docks as fast as her high heeled feet would carry her.

 

Then everything was a blur of bodies, bullets, and blood.  

 

Raphael reached the group of them first and immediately Xever took him on.   He jumped at the turtle with his trademark kick.   Raphael dodged him easily, striking out with his sai.  The extreme flexibility of the fish mutant gave him the advantage, he was easily able to bend his body out of Raphael’s way.  The two landed opposite each other, each in the same position they started.

 

_ No wonder he so rarely gets the upperhand. _ Tiger Claw shook his head at Xever’s tactics.  Bullets from Statin’s gunmen flew by his head, he ducked and dodged, rushing forward to stop in front of two of them.  They froze, eyes wide, as he grabbed the rifles and simultaneously butted the two men in the head.  They fell the ground, where he threw their weapons on top of them.

 

“Don’t shoot at us!” Michelangelo bounced to and fro avoiding gunfire.  “We’re the good guys!”

 

“We’re here to rescue you!” Donatello joined in.

 

“Yeah,” Raphael quipped, “‘Cause you’re their only hope.”

 

Both the orange and purple banded ninja spun into the remaining group of gunman.  Michelangelo knocked two of them unconscious with a swing of each arm, the handle of a nunchaku striking each in the head.  Donatello twirled his bo, the form of the weapon becoming indistinct as the nose of one gunman was bloodied with an unseen strike.  Another was thrown at an unnatural angle as the weapon struck his neck and sent him flying.

 

_ And it’s no wonder Statin is dead,  _ Tiger Claw wanted to say out loud.   His bodyguards are beaten by cubs?  He had no chance against Master Shredder.  He slashed his huge paw at the man in his way  His victim fell, grasping at his face, blood oozing out between his fingers.

 

Bradford leapt high, landing in front of the two turtles amidst the gunmen.  The shooter closest to him screamed and ran for the warehouses just next to the docks.   Michelangelo and Donatello shifted their attention from the humans to the mutant dog.  Both sprung at him as he batted a gunman out of the way.  The human sailed through the air landing in the water.   Bradford grabbed the chain of the nunchaku as it wrapped it around his arm, jumping as Donatello swung his bo at his feet.  Pulling his arm toward him, he sent Michelangelo ramming into his brother.

 

“Bradford, make sure Raiku gets to the airport unmolested,” The Shredder’s voice erupted above battle, deep and calm, despite the chaos around him.  He stood apart, watching, eyes hard as flint.

 

Leonardo appeared before Tiger Claw.  “Why don’t you try fighting someone who can fight back.”

 

He smiled.  “Who?  I don’t see anyone.”

 

The boy snarled.  

 

_ Pathetic _ , Tiger Claw shook his head.  He wasn’t entirely sure what sound a turtle made, but it obviously was not a snarl.  Leonardo raised his katana over his head, lunging at him.

 

Tiger Claw let out a real snarl, drawing his sword and clanging against Leonardo’s.  “You haven’t learned yet, cub, that you are out of your league?”

 

“Haven’t you learned yet not to brag until you’ve won?”   Leonardo swung left, swung right, each time blocked by Tiger Claw.   The turtle whirled, clanging his katana against the tiger mutant’s sword.  He blocked the swing easily, getting a punch into the turtle’s chest.

 

“Booyakasha!”  Michelangelo flew through the air at Shredder’s second-in-command.  One of his nunchaku managed to strike the tiger in the shoulder, but the other was grabbed in a huge paw and thrown toward the water.  The smallest turtle splashed loudly as he hit the ocean.

 

“Mikey!” Raphael yelled, jumping out of Xever’s way as he brought a heavy, robotic foot down where his head was only a moment before.  He rolled when he hit the dock, then jumped in the water after his brother.

 

“Leo?” Donatello ran to his brother’s side and readied his bo as Tiger Claw and Xever made their way over to them.  “What do we do?  We’re outnumbered!”

 

“We can do this,” he murmured.  

 

The Shredder strode toward them, his fists in front of his torso, blades drawn.

 

“We can?” Donatello gulped.

 

“Tactical retreat,” Leonardo said quickly, a scowl on his beak.

 

Both boys turned and jumped in the water.

 

“After them,” The Shredder turned to Xever.

 

The fish’s yellow eyes went wide.  “Alone?”

 

“Yes, or you will wish that one of those turtles dispatched you.”

 

Xever dove into the water after the escaping terrapin.

 

“What of the woman, Master Shredder?” Tiger Claw asked.

 

“She will make it back to Sado safely,” he replied, walking back to his motorcycle.  “Or Bradford will wish he was dispatched by a turtle also.”

  
  
  
  



	20. Chapter 20

The cold wind slapped his eyes, the only thing exposed from his helmet.  With Tiger Claw at his flank, he cruised the streets of New York City.  He turned down alleys and sped across roads at a speed that would frighten most people on a motorcycle.  But with the wind hitting him, the contrast between the cold at his eyes and warmth of his breath against the mask at his mouth, felt good.  Cruising had always calmed him, the noise of the bike drowned everything else out, like a kind of meditation.

 

It would not be long now.  His waiting was paying off, turning his misfortunes into boons, threats into fodder for taking back what belonged to him.  That Raiku came to David Eustace’s funeral was a blessing he hadn’t counted on.  She was predictable, in a way that Nikka was not, easily played.  He did not have to be so careful in dealing with the Japanese _geijutsuka_.  In a few days, Miyabi would call Veronika back home, she would request his presence with her, to explain his actions against one of her students.

 

_The snitch._

 

Raiku had always looked for a reason to tell on someone else.  She was never quite good enough to be great on her own.  It was out of her reach, but she was good enough that she could see it, and he knew that infuriated her.  It made her fear those who truly were great.  He turned down a dark path, only he and Tiger Claw’s headlamps lighting the way.  It has come full circle, he realized.  The only difference between now and back then was that it was Tiger Claw who was his companion, and not Nikka.

 

He had gone to the garage at the Asakami Estate, to take a ride in the mountains on his bike.  He needed to get away from all the estrogen of Miyabi’s students, from all the drama of the residents, from the stupidity and laziness of his students. He needed to get away at the gnawing ache in his heart that came to him at night, when he was alone with his thoughts, when his attention would wander and not stay centered on the space between them.  When visions of his brother and beloved flooded him.  

 

As he entered the garage, he heard the unmistakable voice of Nikka, singing.

 

“At the car wash, ooo yeah, come on to the car wash, girl!”  She was dancing with her back to the door, using a rag as a dance partner, that occasionally rubbed against the car in front of her.  Her other hand held a spray bottle of wax, her microphone.

 

Anger began to seethe in him as he walked over to his motorcycle.   “You didn’t touch my bike, did you?” he demanded.

 

She let out a loud gasp and flipped around, her hair flaring as she did, her bright blue eyes wide.

 

He laughed, smiling widely.   _She is so easy to startle.  Like Shen…_ He shook his head, no he wouldn’t think of her.   

 

“No,” she whined.  “Everyone knows not to touch Sensei’s motorcycle.  Heaven forbid anyone wax it except him.”  She rolled her eyes.

 

“You’re supposed to wash the car before you wax it,” he pointed to the rag.

 

“I did wash it, I washed all of them first.  Except your bike.”  She cocked her hip to the side and put her hand with the rag on it.

 

“What did you get in trouble for this time?” he asked.

 

Nikka squinted her eyes in anger.  “Raiku snitched on me,” she pouted, all of her bravado leaving her.

 

“For what?”  He mounted the bike, resting his foot on the start.

 

“For talking to people I’m not supposed to,” she replied.

 

His face twisted in confusion.  “Who are you not supposed to be talking to?”

 

“The owner of the bar in the village.”

 

He nodded.  The owner was a shady character, who dealt in shady business.  “Why would you be talking to him?”

 

She pursed her lips shut and didn’t answer him.

 

“Are you trying to get something for Miyabi?”

 

Her eyes went wide at the mention of her mother’s name, said by itself with no honorific attached.  “No,” she answered quickly.  “I am trying to get something for me.”  She sighed, looking about the garage.   “Apparently,” she said, rolling her eyes, “since I have no problem dealing with people below my station, I can do chores below my station.”  She gestured around her.   “I am to clean all the transportation.”

 

He huffed.  Cleaning all the transportation meant that the almost-woman would be mucking the horse stalls in the morning.  Miyabi did not appreciate innovation.  It had not taken long after his arrival at the Asakami Estate for him to find that out.  Apparently, that didn't stop this little _geijutsuka_ from showing it.    _Innovation should be rewarded_ , he felt. _It is what makes what is, better._

 

It occurred to him, quite suddenly, that she was a hard worker, despite her sometimes disobedient attitude.   He wondered how often her work was rewarded.

 

“So you know how to ride?” he asked.

 

“A horse?” she asked, confused.

 

“No, a camel.”

 

She furrowed her brows.   

 

“A motorcycle,” he snapped.

 

She blushed.  “No.”

 

He smiled.   He didn't know why it satisfied him that she didn't know.   It was almost a childish feeling,  he noted, of being pleased at having information she did not have.   “You sit down and hold on.”  He motioned with his head for her to get on behind him.

 

She looked at him uncertainly, as if trying to ascertain whether he was serious or not.   _Am I so hard to trust?_   “You're already in trouble.”  He felt rebellious, as if he were getting one up on the lady of estate if he could convince her prize pupil to abandon her duties.  He knew that this, too, was a childish feeling, but he did not squelch it, and it made him smile.

 

The comment seemed to convince her, she put the rag and spray down and mounted the bike behind him.   “What about helmets?” she asked.

 

“You don't need a helmet,” he told her.

 

“Are you wearing a helmet?” she asked.

 

“Do you see a helmet?” he asked back.

 

She didn’t answer him, and if she had, he would not have heard, as he kicked the starter and the beautiful vehicle roared into life.  When they lurched forward, she flung her arms about his chest, pressing herself against his back, her body stiff.  He smirked again,  she was so easy to startle.

 

The ride was cool and quiet, there was no one else on the road as it wound its way farther up the mountain.  Nikka’s hold on him slowly lessened as she grew more comfortable sitting behind him.  He felt her place her cheek against his shoulder blades, creating a disparity between the warmth that seeped through the back of his leather jacket and the cool of his arms and legs.

 

She pointed to a small road, little more than a trail, to the left that travelled farther up the mountain.  He turned onto it and it took them to the overlook.   He stopped the cycle, getting off after she slid to the ground behind him.  She walked to the edge of the overlook, so close that all he had to do , he mused, was give her a tiny push, hardly any force at all, and she would fall down the cliff face to her death.  It reminded him of how fragile things in this world were, and how he could not be fragile.  Those around him could not be fragile.

 

He turned his attention from her to the mountains beyond.  The view was magnificent.  The valley below was in plain sight, he could see the Asakami Estate, the village just below it, and three more little villages before the slope of the mountain made it harder to access.  But even there, on the steep slopes, farm houses dotted the mountain.  The mountain dipped in the middle to make two large peaks.  The pass it formed, almost directly in front of them, was a ribbon of road, wending its way through the villages to the estate that the valley nestled.

 

“There’s a story about this overlook,” Nikka said into the quiet of the night, her eyes ahead of her.  “When Koga Takuza gave his sister the Asakami Estate, he thought that no one could get to it, because of the yokai in the forest, and the spikes of the mountains.  But he was wrong.  A rival clan, I don’t remember the name now, came over the mountains.”  She pointed to the back of the estate, where the spires of the solid rock heralded the border of Miyabi’s land.  “They wanted to annihilate anything that was dear to Koga Takuza, and his sister was very, very dear to him.  Some say, more dear than even his wife and children.”  She looked at him mischievously.  “But I’ve already told you that.”

 

He did not answer her, annoyance growing in his breast.

 

“Needless to say, they did not annihilate it.  Both Tamayori and her son lived, safe and sound, in its borders.  They did do a fair amount of damage though.  They killed a lot of people, enough that it got Takuza’s attention.

 

“He came to Sado, where he had enshrined his dear sister in what he thought was safety, to kill every last member of the rival clan, men, women and children, for daring to touch something that loved.

 

“As he was planning his attack, he and his nephew, Tamayori’s son, stood at this outcropping.  

 

“‘You can see the whole world from up here!’ he exclaimed.

 

“His uncle looked at him with a scowl on his war-hardened face.  ‘This is nothing,’ he said.  ‘You see that pass, in between the two peaks?’

 

“‘Yes, Uncle,’ said his nephew.

 

“‘Beyond the mountains, through that pass, there is an entire island 100 times larger than this little valley in which you live.  Beyond that, there is an entire nation that is 1000 times larger than this little island.  Beyond that, there is an empire 10,000 times larger than this nation.  And beyond that,’ said Koga Takuza, ‘there is an entire world 100,000 times larger than even that.  Your mind is small, boy, like your father’s.’

 

“Because, it could not have been his beloved sister that he got his small mind from, now could it?”  Nikka scoffed, her face twisting into something between hurt and anger, her eyes still on the mountain pass.  “Miyabi-shishou lives in this valley,” she continued, “as if it were the entire world.”

 

She turned to him, that wise look, that always surprised him when she had it, shone in her eyes.  “She will keep you here forever, Saki,” she said.  “She will give you promises of things larger than this valley, but she won’t let you out of it.  She keeps what she wants close to her heart, and she keeps what is close to her heart close to her breast.”  Her visage changed once again, so that his chest gripped.  It was pleading, and it was as if Shen had taken over the almost-woman’s body , the look was so similar.  “Go home, Saki,” she told him.

 

He wasn’t sure he heard her correctly, so he tilted his head to the side.  He knew he must have appeared confused.  

 

“She’ll trap you here, between these two mountains. Go home, win back whoever it is that broke your heart.”

 

He heard himself choke at her words. _How does she know that?_  He hadn’t breathed a word to anyone about Shen, only in his thoughts, in his prayers, in his meditations did he mention her.  

 

“You deserve more than just this valley, Saki.  You have greatness in you.  Don’t let her keep it here.”  She began to walk back to the motorcycle, graceful and delicate.

 

“And what of you?” he heard himself ask, not even thinking of the question.  She was meant for more than just being the jewel of Asakami Miyabi.  “You will settle for this valley for the rest of your life?”

 

She looked back at him, “The day I turn 18,” she said, “is the last day I will live on Sado.”

 

He drove up to the building he used as his base of operations, Tiger Claw still behind him.  He wondered, as he dismounted from his night ride, if Nikka would stay on Sado after this visit.

  


###

 

Xever hurt.  Hurting, in and of itself, was something he was familiar with. It came with his job, it always had, not matter the job.  Doing someone else’s dirty work was painful.  Doing the Foot’s dirty work was even more so.  However, hurt from a beating by Master Shredder was something that made pain rise to a whole new level.

 

It had been a while since he’d been thrashed by the head of the Foot Clan.  Since Tiger Claw’s arrival, dealing with subordinates had become the mutant’s province.  That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, because his beatings were softer than Master Shredder’s.  Not that Xever would ever tell anyone that.  No need to make thrashings worse than they were.  It wasn’t as if Tiger Claw were gentle, by any means.

 

But being punished by The Shredder was like dealing with a demon come from Hell.  He remembered his mother telling him stories of Satan’s minions with great claws on their hands, heads bald and scarred from the hellfire.  He knew that there was no such thing has demons, that demons were mutants, and men like Oroku Saki.  But that did not make The Shredder any less vengeful to one of his people when they failed him.

 

When he’d returned to their headquarters empty handed, with not even a turtle scale to show for his pursuit, Shredder had flown off the handle, in the way that only Master Shredder could.

 

It was not a calm reprimand, so often given by Xever’s leader, but a rage.  They all knew that he wasn’t going to succeed in his mission, alone and with his quarry having such a head start.   The fish mutant had to fight a constant feeling of being set up.   Then,  on his way home, fear.

 

Fear was a constant companion to any of the Foot.   While The Shredder rewarded his minions handsomely for success, too the point of sometimes asking them what they wanted as a reward, his punishments were harsh and severe.   Xever has every right to be afraid upon returning.

 

However, the pummeling Xever received was  obviously brought on by something other than the fish mutant not bringing back a souvenir of a turtle.

 

Upon bowing to his knees, he had been kicked across the throne room,  his body hurting long before his brain realized what had happened.   Instinctively, he had put his hand to his side.   The move left his arm totally exposed.   It was grabbed and twisted by his master, so that it now hung at his side.   Though he knew it wasn’t broken, he wasn't sure how long it would be before he could use it again.

 

He stumbled into the lounge room, or would have had he not been on robotic legs, heading straight toward the fridge.  

 

“You not look so good, comrade,” Steranko observed.  

 

“You leave something out to get hacked into?” Zeck took a swig of a beer.

 

“Hacked?” Xever asked.  He wished all he’d done was left something out to hack, maybe he wouldn’t have received such a hammering.

 

“Oh, you not hear?” Steranko chuckled.  “Fly-genius, he not so much a genius, after all.”

 

Xever looked to Zeck questioningly.  He could barely understand what the rhino said half the time.

 

“Turns out ol’ Vikki ain’t just playing music in that room of hers,” he said.  

 

 _You need to watch your mouth, pig head,_  Xever considered telling him. _Let it get back to either one of them that you call her ‘old Vikki’ and you’ll end up a trophy on Shredder’s wall._  It hadn’t taken any of them very long to figure out that ol’ Vikki was to be listened to, closely.  However, the idea of Zeck’s head on the wall didn’t sound too bad to him, so he decided not to voice the warning.

 

“She’s been trying to hack into things,” he continued.  “She hacked into Steranko’s bank account,” he snorted.

 

“I not mind,” the rhino shrugged.  “She put $2000 in it.”

 

“From some Greek guy’s account.”  Zeck reached over and opened the refridgerator with his foot as Xever approached it.

 

“Statin,” the fish mutant muttered.

 

“Yeah, that’s his name,” Zeck said.  “Well, apparently she not only hacked into the bank’s computers, she hacked into Shredder’s computers.”

 

“What?” Xever asked.

 

“Mistress Veronika hack into fly-genius computer,” Steranko repeated.

 

“With an outside computer, like her phone or something.”  The warthog shook his head.  “Hoo, hoo, Shredder was hot.”

 

“She come into throne room,” Steranko leaned forward in his chair, eyes intent.  “She tell Shredder, Stockman no good at protecting computers.”

 

“She comes in,” Zeck practically pushed Steranko in his chair, “and she says, ‘I hacked into your Kraang DNA files,’ in that robotic way she’s been talking lately.”  

 

Zeck snickered.  “‘What?’ says Shredder.

 

“‘I cracked the encryption for the database that held the DNA files,’ she tells him.  ‘I didn’t try very hard.’

 

“‘When?’ he asks her.

 

“‘While you were gone,’ she says. Well, he knows that it can’t have taken her all that long to do it, because she was playing music when y’all left.  That, and she was still playing music for a good half hour after y’all left.”

 

“So he yells for Stockman,” Steranko said.  “In that voice, you know, it slowly get louder as he yells.”

 

“Flyboy comes up from his dungeon,” Zeck spun around his chair, leaning it back on one leg.  “Shredder lays into him, whoo,hoo!  Like my gramma laid the butter on biscuits.   Stockman starts buzzing on about his encryption is infallible, there is no way she broke into it, that she was in the building, she knows the codes--”

 

“Blah, blah, blah,” said Steranko.  “Meanwhile, she stands there, like a robot--”

 

“--while Shredder tears into him.”  Zeck shook his head, laughing.

 

“Very entertaining,” the rhino took another swig of his drink.  “Sit, comrade Xever.  You, you not look so good.”

 

He didn’t feel so good.  He felt worse than he had when he’d walked in here.  He screwed open of the bottle of caninha and brought it to his lips.  The burn of the clear distillate of sugarcane felt good to his throat and his chest as it went down, almost like a massage to his hurt body.

 

 _I am going to tear the wings off of that Buzzkill_ , Xever seethed.

 

###

 

Baxter Stockman worked at his computer, the whir of the ventilation fan filling his ears.  His heart pounded in his chest as humiliation slowly built into anger, seething and hot.  That pretenious, overweening brood mare had demeaned him for nothing.

 

“Nothing!” he buzzed.  “I didn’t do zzzanything wrong.”

 

Of course she was able to break into his computer systems.  She was in the building, for crying out loud!  She probably had the security codes and just typed them in, then somehow made it look like she’d hacked into the back of the system.  His compound eyes ran over the code in front of him on the screen, each number and letter emblazoned in his vision a thousand times.  He could see the space where she’d wriggled through his defences.

 

“She muzzzt have put it there,” he shook his head.  “It wazzzn’t there before.”

 

And she’d done it on purpose, he was sure!  On purpose to degrade him in front of Master Shredder.  She was angry at him, he was sure, for not having psychological profiles on everyone.  

 

“Who keep pzzzychological profilezzz on people?  People who need a pzzzychological profile, that’zzz who.  The brood mare.”

 

He was thankful that he had been exempt from the tizzy that ensued just after it was announced that the two Eustace children were coming.  Did she have psychological profiles on them?  Who brought children to a place like this?  He wouldn’t be in a place like this if he wasn’t mutated into something out of a 70s horror movie!  He wouldn’t have been in this place in the first place if he hadn’t had mutagen wrapped around his neck.  He wouldn’t…

 

He buzzed angrily, returning his attention back to the screen in front of him.  

 

As it was, a sixteen year old girl didn’t belong here.  Look what happened to her!  Now she was a mindless beast, some sort of serpent thing, because Master Shredder had to show off.  Who dangles their daughter over a vat of mutagen?  A crazy man, that’s who.

 

But that was why he was here, working for a crazy man, wasn’t it?  Because crazy people do crazy things.  Like bring their children into this dangerous mess of a world.   Less than a year ago, he had been a free man, a human, walking in the light of day, doing whatever he wanted, making whatever he wanted, exacting revenge upon TCRI for firing him.  Now, he was trying to make an retromutagen for his master’s daughter, not for him, or any of his other mutants.  Retromutagen had been a freetime project back then.  But now that Karai had been mutated, every available minute was to be used to bring her back to her human form.

 

Master Shredder came to see Karai every day, without fail, as if he were visiting her at her sickbed.  He stared silently in the glass, barely moving, it was hard to even detect him breathing.  What he was thinking was unknown to the fly mutant, but he could occasionally hear him muttering about revenge.  But then, he was always muttering about revenge, so this wasn’t anything new.

 

What was new was that sow.  She did not speak to Baxter often, even though she came into the terrarium room every day.  Sometimes she was with Master Shredder and sometimes she was alone.  But when she did speak to him, it was to give him a command.  Only she said it like she was suggesting, like it was his idea.  It didn’t matter what it was, he wanted to do it.  He wanted to do it so badly, he’d kill someone to do it, whether it was picking up a candy wrapper off of the floor or if it were to rob the Trust National Bank in broad daylight.

 

He didn’t like it.  He didn’t like it one bit.  Now, she’d gone and put him bad graces with Master Shredder.

 

I worked so hard to stay in his good graces!  “I do what I am told,” he groused.  “Zzz-I work diligently.  On everything!  No one appreciatezzz my effortzzz. “

 

He plopped down into his chair and crossed his arms.  After being reamed for his slack security, Shredder had lit into him about his lack of progress with Karai.  He had been threatened with “Dire consequences,” if The Shredder did not see some results soon.  With the blades only millimeters from his face, Stockman knew exactly what ‘dire consequences’ were.

 

“Do they think making a retromutagen izzz eazzzy?!  Zzzshe couldn’t make that, now could zzzshe, with all her computer hacking and zzzinging and pzzzychological profiling.

 

“Zzztupid, philandering cow!”

 

He was so close to a retromutagen.  But these things took time, they took patience, they took work.  They took, intelligence.  Intelligence that none of them had.  That gave him a modicum of satisfaction.  He leaned forward again, looking at the calculations on the computer screen.  He would test another batch of retromutagen later on today, he estimated.  Maybe this one would be the right formulation and Karai would mutate back into her human form.  And Stockman wouldn’t have to suffer any ‘dire consequences’. 


	21. Chapter 21

The Shredder sat in his meditation room, trying to breath his rage away,  with the rendering of the renditions of oni towering over him, their eyes glaring.  He was surrounded by fools!  _  All of them, imbeciles _ .  Not a one of them could do their jobs properly.  This was the best he could get?   _ The pathetic, sniveling halfwits! _

Nikka told him she was going to test his computer's’ integrity.  “I don’t trust Stockman to put up proper cybersecurity,” she said in that dead voice.  

Indeed, Stockman was found wanting.  

He was angry at everyone.  He had beaten Stockman for his carelessness.  He had beaten Xever for his failure.  He had wanted to pummel Bradford, but he had done what he was he was told.  As the dog mutantreported to him, Raiku was on her way to Tokyo,  then Sado.  He wanted to shake Nikka until her teeth chattered in her head. This shadow that she was most of the time was becoming tiresome to deal with, especially with the glimpses of her true self that shone through when she played music or when he took her in his bed.  But he had to step lightly, yet.   _ I am patient, _ he chanted.   _ I am present. _  He had waited for 15 years, he could wait a few days longer.  Everything was moving as it was supposed to, as he’d foreseen it since his childhood.  Because it was not moving in the way he planned did not matter.  It was the destination that mattered, not the journey.

Again, he closed his eyes, his anger abating slightly as he let it slide from him, like silk on the skin.  He was not here to dwell on his rage at his own people.  He had others at which to rage.

Flames burst around him, cleansing fire.  The heat penetrated his armor, the Kuro Kabuto gaining warmth, his closed eyelids shining red instead of resting in blackness.  He had summoned the oni that he had painstakingly sculpted from his memory for his meditation room, quelling his rage, chanting his patience, his presence, stretching his perception to other realms that existed about him and through him, but no ogres came to him, either in his mind’s eye or the eyes in his head. 

He knew why.

He suppressed his rage once again, now was not the time for it.   _ I am patient.  I am present. _  None of his teachers had come to him since Nikka’s phone call saying she was coming to New York City.  He hadn’t brought her down here, he had not yet felt the time was right.  Part of him derided himself, it was not time, it was courage that he lacked.  But he let that thought slide from him also, like spittle from a baby’s chin.  He needed her for the oni to come to him again.  And she could not help him when she was only half present.

He hated that he needed help.  He was powerful.  He was nearly indestructible.  He had monsters at his command.  Yet here, in the simple task of calling a demon from its hiding place, he needed this woman’s help.  Despite the fact that he knew he would eventually need it, that it meant he had attained a higher level of mastery, that visions and prophecies were being fulfilled, he hated that he could not do it on his own.  

Taking deep breaths, he chanted,  _ I am patient.  I am present. _ _ You have waited 15 years, Saki.  You can wait for as long as you need. _

The flames receded, and he was left cold, the black of his eyes sudden and absolute.

“It is your turn to tell me a story,” he heard, almost in his outer ear.   _ A story?   _ Then he remembered.

He was in the forest that surrounded the Asakami Estate.  He and Nikka had only two days left before their month was up, before he could be out of this god-forsaken forest and actually  _ do _ something again.

The garden had long been cleaned up, the two of them made quick work of the Morning Garden, a mistake on their part.  It left the rest of the month with nothing to do but sit around and wait for their tenure to be over.

He sat in meditation, the sun high in the sky, sweat beading down his temples to his jaw.  The tickle of it was vibrant on his skin, his entire attention in that little drop of salt water.  Then he felt a thwack on his thigh.  “It is your turn to tell me a story,” Nikka whined.

He opened his eyes and scowled at her.  She had been sleeping on the grass, complaining that waking up so early to join him in the dojo left her exhausted.  “Laziness leaves you exhausted,” he’d told her.

“I’m not lazy,” she’d groused.

She wasn’t, he knew, but it did not stop his ire from rising when she flopped down on the grass and began to doze.  Now that she was awake, she needed him to entertain her?

“I am busy,” his said quietly.

“No, you’re not.”  She sat up and glared at him.  “You’re just sitting there.  You can’t tell me you are meditating.”

“I  _ was _ meditating,” he corrected her through clenched teeth.

“You can’t meditate all day,” she replied.  “Only monks meditate all day.”

He closed his eyes again, ignoring her.

“Saki, I’ve told you all kinds of stories when you asked.  It’s your turn to tell me one.”  Her voice was insistent, and he wondered if she was trying to suggest to him with it.

“You are the one reading all those scrolls,” he said.  “You tell me story.”

“You don’t want to hear about anyone, but Koga Takuza,” she complained.

What other stories would he want to hear?  Children’s fairytales? It was the great founder of his Clan that he wanted to know about.   He listened to stories of Koga Tamayori in order to glean the thoughts of his ancestor.  Otherwise, he wouldn't have listened to them, either.  “Then tell me a story about him.”

“I’ve already told you all the good ones.”  She flopped back down again, staring up at the blue sky.

“Then tell me a not-good one,” he ordered.  

“Uhg,” she sat up and huffed.  “Once upon a time, there was a great hero named Koga Takuza.  He had many adventures, some big, some little, and this is a little adventure.”  She recited the beginning impassively.  “As he was walking alone on a path in the forest one day, as a virile young man, he came across a woman on the side of the road playing a biwa.”  Her voice became more animated as she spoke.  Having an audience for a story, even an audience of one, was too much of an opportunity to perform for her to let pass by.

“She was sitting, obviously, because she was playing a biwa, and wearing a gorgeous blue kimono made of silk.  Her hair was pulled up with golden combs, and her face was painted with red and black around her eyes.  Her lips were like rubies and her dark eyes shone like obsidian. 

“‘What are you doing out here alone?’ asked Takuza.

“‘I am playing my biwa,’ she replied.  ‘For I am lonely, I live all by myself here in the wood.’”

Saki looked at her dubiously.

“What?” Nikka asked.

“This is an obvious story,” he said.

“It is a classical story that all heroes must endure,” she said haughtily.  “You want your ancestor to be a hero, don’t you?”

“Hnnnn,” he replied with a scowl.

She smiled smugly and took that as an indication that she should continue.  “‘You live alone?’ asked Takuza.  ‘How is it that you live alone in this place?’  

‘My father died many years ago,’ she said, blinking her eyes becomingly.”  Nikka did as she explained, looking more like a fool than a becoming young woman found in a wood.  Saki had lessened his scowl at the sight.  “‘Her father died many years ago?’ Takuza thought, as men are apt to do.”  She gave Saki a knowing glare.  

He seriously doubted she knew what the glare was supposed to mean.  He didn’t believe that she’d ever been alone with someone of the opposite sex, except for him out here.  And she didn’t seem to be making any attempts to be alone with anyone.  In fact, she worked to get out of being with him, and he must have been a thousand times more interesting than any other man on this boring estate.  

The look lasted only a moment.   “‘Do you live with anyone else?’ Takuza asked.  ‘Your mother, your brothers?’

“‘No,’ she answered, standing up, holding her biwa against her chest.  ‘I live with no one, and am so very lonely.’”

Saki snickered at how she said it. 

“You are not taking this story very seriously,” Nikka said in between small giggles.

“It is an obvious story,” Saki said, rolling his eyes.

“You want Takuza to be a great hero or not?” she crossed her arms about her chest.

It was his turn to glare at her.   After a moment, he waved his hand at her dismissively.

Again, she took it as an indication to continue her story.  “Takuza thought the maiden was so lovely, her lips so red, her eyes so rich, like tea, her hair so dark, like night, that he walked to the side of the road where she stood.  ‘If you have nothing here,’ he said, holding out his hand, ‘then come back with me, and I will make sure you are treated like a princess.’

“She looked at his hand, a small smile on her red, red lips, and shook her head.  ‘I cannot go with you right now,” she said, ‘for I must get my father’s sword from my cottage.’

“‘Then I shall accompany you to your cottage,’ said Takuza, ‘and keep you safe in the forest.’

“Now why,” Nikka looked skeptical, “he wouldn’t have thought it strange that she was out and about in the woods alone without her father’s sword already, only he knows.”

_ Everyone else besides you knows, you stupid girl, _ Saki had wanted to say.

“But, apparently, she must have had something going on in that kimono, because he followed her to her cottage.  As they walked deeper and deeper into the dark woods, she played her biwa.  The song was dark and lonely, like the woods and herself.  She sang to it, whispery words that promised knowledge of earthy, dusky places.  He was lulled into a trance, of sorts, so that his only thoughts were of her and her beautiful music.  

“‘When I take her home, I will make her one of my prized concubines,’ he thought, ‘In a higher honor than any geisha in my court.’  

“She looked back at him, smiling with her ruby lips, and lead him into the forest until the dark of her hair was almost indistinguishable from the dusk of the woods.   Then her shack emerged. 

“‘This is where you live?’ asked Takuza, his voice betraying his disgust.

“It is,’ answered the maiden. ‘Do you not think that I have a beautiful cottage?’

“It was pretty obvious that Takuza did not think it was a beautiful cottage.  It was a falling down thing, it didn’t look like it had been lived in for generations. How could her father’s sword be in this ramshackle building, much less anything else that one would need to live?”  Nikka raised her eyebrows as she muttered, “Now, Takuza, like his descendant, was not one to lie.  However,” she said matter-of-factly, “he did not want to insult the beautiful maiden with whom he had become so enamored.  He decided that he would tell her the truth, the entire truth, and if she did not like it or did not want to come with him because of it, he would simply overpower her and take her away without her consent.  

“‘It is not a beautiful cottage,’ he said.  ‘It is a shack.  But, I will take you to a palace, and you shall live like a queen, and have servants at your beck and call.  You can leave this hovel behind.’

“She was quiet, so that the only the woods made any noise at all and Takuza thought that she might deny him.  But then she smiled and motioned him toward the entrance.  ‘A queen?’ she asked.  ‘Honestly?’

Takuza put his hand to his armored chest above his heart, ‘I promise,’ he said.

“‘Come then,’ she said.  “I will retrieve my father’s sword, and we shall be off to your palace.”  Nikka narrowed her own eyes, turning her head to the side in a facsimile of what she thought the young maiden must have done.  It was one of those looks that women, throughout the beginning of time, had given men when they knew they had the upper hand.   _ Perhaps girls are born knowing how to do it, _ Saki had mused,  _ and that is why it keeps showing up in my women.. _ .    

“So he followed her into the shack,” Nikka’s voice was soft.  “When his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw that there was no furniture in the place.  No eating items.  No food.  Not even a chamber pot.  It was covered in spider webs and from each web hung the skeleton of a man!

“He turned to leave, but the woman was now behind him, blocking the door.”  The almost-woman’s voice sped up as she spoke, her big blue eyes wide and bright.  “In front of his eyes, she transformed from the beautiful maiden whom he had followed into a terrifying  _ jorogumo _ !  Her legs disappeared to turn into the bulbous body of a spider, with six stick legs emerging from it.  Her beautiful face turned round and stretched, her teeth growing to become dripping fangs.  She hissed at him, her mouth open and covered in green venom.

“He knew he had only a few moments before he, too, would end up like the maiden’s other ‘lovers’, a sack of bones having been sucked dry by the spider woman.  So he took his sword, and beheaded the evil creature before she could bite him and leave him defenseless.  He then burned her, and the shack, to the ground, before returning to the road, to continue on his way.”

“That was not Koga Takuza,” Saki replied.

“Then who was it?” Nikka asked, tilting her head to the side, her light brown hair falling about her face.

“A stupid hero,” said Saki to the common fairytale.     

“I can tell you the story about when Koga Takuza met the  _ ittan-momen _ and it tried to smother him to death,” she laughed.

He reached out, trying not to smile, and slapped her on the shoulder.

“Ow!” all signs of laughter now gone.  “That hurt, Saki.  You hit hard.”

He rolled his eyes and turned from her.

She smacked him in the bicep, as she had done earlier, “It is your turn to tell me a story,” she demanded.

Again, the words were almost on the outside of his ears, as the great statues of devils stared down at him with their stern faces.   _ A story, _ the words bounced in his head.  Were they memory or the whisperings of the trolls about him?   _ A story, what story? _

“Go back to sleep,” he had told her after her tale, his light mood leaving him.

“I told you one!” she whined.  “Now you tell me one.”

He snapped his head in her direction, but instead of backing down, the almost-woman returned his scowl.  They stared at each for a long time, he felt a bead of sweat drip down his neck, in between his shoulder blades to tickle him to the small of his back, like the touch of a lover’s fingers.

Her face softened first, her expression pleading.  “Saki, you haven’t told me a single story, at all.”

“I have told you plenty of fairytales,” he replied.

“I’ve told you fairytales and then you’ve dissected them with me,” she corrected.

He had sighed.   _ Fine, I’ll tell you a story, you little rapscallion. _

“Once upon a time,” he began,  “many years ago, there was a great ninja clan.  There were few true clans left, and those that did still exist fought each other mercilessly.  During a great gathering, another clan came  and decimated them.  They killed everyone, men, women, children, and ninja alike.  In a bloody frenzy, they left none of their ancient enemies alive.”  He paused in the story then, his chest clenching at the thought of his father’s name at the tip of his tongue,  _ No, Hamato Yuuta is not my father!   _ “The leader of the Hamato clan, who lead the raid, while looking upon the destruction he had wrecked, heard the cry of a baby.  It lead him to the leader’s house, where everyone in it lay in their own blood, save for an infant, sitting next to its mother.  Feeling guilty for the destruction he had caused, he took the child in, raised it, lied to it and told it he loved it, that it was his own son, until one day the child found out.”  He was quiet, the words seemingly not want to come out of his mouth.  “So the child left.”

Nikka tilted her head to the side and regarded him in a way that made her look much older than the 15 years she was.  It had reminded him of Tang Shen, when she was contemplating something and wanted him to know it.  He felt his heart clench at the thought, and was unable to relax when Nikka replied, “I know that story.”  She straightened her face, her blue eyes passive.  “It is the destruction of the Foot Clan.  Only, I heard it told differently.”


	22. Chapter 22

Story is the prime way that human beings understand themselves.  Oroku Saki knew this.  He had learned this fact long before he had even met any of the oni whose renditions stared down at him, without judgement or full of it, it was hard to tell.  Indeed, he’d re-written his own, and in doing so, realized pages of it that he did not know even existed.

“Once upon a time,” Nikka had told him over twenty years ago, “there was a powerful warrior--”

“What does this have to do with the fall of the Foot Clan?” he had snapped, annoyance welling up in him.  

She squinted angrily, her lips pursed into almost a kiss.  “You want to hear it or not?”

The wind blew leaves about the Morning Garden, taunting him to leave her sitting there in the grass, to clean them up, their appointed task for the month while they were trapped with each other.   He grunted.

She smiled.  “Where was I?  Oh yes!”  She moved to make herself more comfortable.  “After the World War was over, a powerful warrior, who had managed to live through it, despite his ultimate willingness to die, went home.  He was tired, and he was a war hero, and all he wanted to do was rest.  We all know what soldiers mean when they say rest,” she squinted at him again. 

He laughed quietly.  _ Maybe the girl knows more than....  _

“But,” she held a finger up in the air, “he could not rest, for he saw a beautiful young woman from afar.   When he asked who she was, he was told she was one of Japan’s most decorated spies, who had brought down many a proud American and Englishman during the war.     She was tall, taller than everyone around her, and so beautiful that she took his breath away.  ‘I must marry that woman!’ he announced.”

Saki was about to interrupt her again, what did any of this have to do with the fall of the Foot Clan, but she caught him before he could.

“So he went to his father, a great ninja,” she forced out the word, “and told him he had to marry this spy.  His father was ecstatic, for this spy was none other than Asakami Miyabi, a fine match for his son, a scion of The Foot Clan.”  She smirked as Saki calmed down, finally seeing some connection.   “So, despite the fact that she was two heads taller than he was, he married her in a traditional wedding and smiled in all the photos.  Except for the wedding photo that’s hung up in the house.”  She giggled.  “Apparently he smiled a lot.  They moved to the Asakami Estate in the middle of Sado, had three sons, who were all trained to be great ninjas by their father, and two daughters, powerful geijutsuka under the tutelage of the mother.”  She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly, “Because heaven forbid we have a twist in traditional gender roles here in the middle of nowhere.  Someone might actually notice.”    She smiled in response to Saki’s grunt for a reply.  “They all lived happily ever after, until... ”

Miyabi might have been a decorated war spy, but she was obviously a master storytelling teacher, if her jewel student was an example.  Nikka had let her voice trailed off, her eyebrows raised in expectation, her body leaning toward Saki’s so that he was suddenly aware that he was leaning toward her in anticipation of the next segment.  

She sat up, waggled her eyebrows, and said, “Until they went home for a visit.  They returned to Honshu, of course everyone always went to visit the city, because it actually had modern amenities, and a post office that actually delivered your mail.”  She shrugged.  “Miayabi-shishou told me once that they could never be sure that Sado City was going to deliver your post. Tokyo always did.  Anyway,” she nodded for emphasis, “they went back home to where The Foot Clan was located, I don’t know where it was on the island, only that it must have been close enough to Tokyo that they all went there, too.  They were going for a wedding, and the entire place was decked out in beautiful flowers and lanterns and everyone was in their best clothing and make up and it looked like something out of a fairy tale.” 

Saki had considered stopping the girl at this point in her story.   He didn’t like the way she was setting the story up, with it looking ‘like something out of a fairy tale’.  He didn’t want it to look beautiful.  He didn’t want it to be a special occasion.  He had always imagined it as an ordinary day, with everyone doing ordinary things, wearing ordinary clothes.

“Everything was in place,” she said.  “The entire clan was out, waiting for the wedding party.  Then, suddenly,” Nikka’s face turned dark, “ninja, dressed in dark red, with the emblem of the Hamato Clan on their backs, descended upon those gathered around.  Few had weapons, and even fewer could have defended themselves even if they had them.  The ninja were magnificently trained, and they cut down anyone who stood in their path.”

_ Magnificently trained… _ the words had bounced in his head.  Of course they would have had to have been.  It had not occurred to him before, that they must have been  _ magnificently trained. _  Was he not one of the best ninjutsu masters in the world?  How many tournaments, how many competitions, how many downright fights had he won?  Even as a youth, they were innumerable.  He was  _ magnificently trained. _  He scoffed at the irony.

Nikka mistook it as directed at her.  “Some tried to stop them, though,” she said, squinting at him with a pout.  “In fact, all of Miyabi-shishou’s household fought bravely.  She lost all of her sons, one of her daughters, and her husband in the raid.  As the entire place burned to the ground, she escaped with only a precious few with her.  One of them was her son, who was struck down by a katana as he tried to protect his mother and sister.  He died in Miaybi-shishou’s arms, with her crying out to any gods that could hear for them to help her.

“Her daughter dragged her from the wreckage that was the Foot Clan, her side pierced by an arrow.  An arrow lodged in the Lady Asakami’s thigh, but they escaped, barely, to try to make their way home.

“Her daughter died on the way back to Sado, so that Miyabi-shishou returned the estate childless, husbandless, and filled with despair.”  The girl’s voice was soft and filled with compassion, as if she’d thought about this part of the story a great deal.  She did not elaborate on it, though, as she continued.  “Later, the Lady Asakami heard that the entire Clan had been annihilated, that there was no one left, no building left, no nothing left.

“‘Surely,’ she said to herself, ‘this cannot be.  It cannot be simply wiped off of the face of the map!’”  Now, while Miyabi-shishou had run from the destruction, she is by no means a coward.  She went back to Honshu, to the place where the Foot Clan had resided, to find only a burnt out ruin.  She made her household who had accompanied her go through the wreckage and take anything they found, any personal items, any household items, anything that belonged to her ancestress’ brother’s household.  Then, when they could find nothing else, she said her prayers, for the people and place to be a peace, and then came home, desolate because her line was now ended, and her Art was to dwindle to nothing when she died.”

Nikka had fallen silent then, her big blue eyes filled with thoughtfulness.  He had looked away from her, his mind swirling to grasp what it was that she had just told him, to put in context.  Had Miyabi found the Kuro Kabuto in the burnt husk of his birthplace?  What else had the old woman found during her grim excavation?  What else did she have that rightly belonged to him?

“I suppose Shishou was wrong,” Nikka broke into his thoughts.  “There was at least one left alive.  And here you are.”

He regarded her, an almost-woman, divulging half secrets in a half secret place, drops of destiny laid before him to gather like pearls from oysters.  “Is that all you know?” he asked.  “Is that all there is?”

“To that story,” she had answered.  “But there are many other, little, stories that come after it.”  She shrugged and smiled knowingly.  “All together, they make quite a book.”

Fire erupted around him, bringing him back to the present, to his meditation chamber.  He knew that the fire, cleansing and hot, flickered around him at that instant, because the other, little stories did not matter at this moment.  

_ And here you are, _ Nikka’s words echoed in his head.  Did here mean there, in the story, the culmination of that moment in the haunted forest so long ago?  Or did here mean now, with effigies of demons gathered about him, half animal monsters roaming his halls?

_ I am patient, _ he chanted,  _ I am present. _  The mantra had gotten him through his entire adult life, had helped him to achieve all that he had achieved.  It would help him now, as he meditated on  _ And here you are. _

He was here, in New York City, in a dark, dank, ugly part of the city that held one thing of crumbling beauty, which he’d taken as his own.   _ Here you are. _ Here he was.  More powerful that he had ever been in his life, in control of almost the entire underworld of New York City.  It was only one step up to the sunlight.

He smiled and stood, bowing to the four statues around him, before exiting the mediation room.

***

Nikka walked the streets of Sado City, somewhere dingy, she didn’t quite recognize it, but she knew where she was going.  She glanced down at her feet, she was wearing canvas shoes, white ones, that were in fashion nowadays.  It was very important to stay in fashion, but never be too trendy..  That got you noticed, and a geijutsuka of her calibre was never to be noticed.  Ordinary made sure you blended in, and blending in made you a fly on a wall, and being a fly on the wall garnered you information from the same well over, and over, and over again.  She smiled to herself, knowing her not-tan/not-pale skin, her not-blond,/not-brown hair, her not-too-tall/not-too-short stature would serve her well in the years to come when she made a career for herself, free from Miyabi-shishou and all on her own.  Only her bright blue eyes were memorable, and she liked them very much, so she wasn’t so willing to discard them.

Where was she going again?  She couldn’t quite remember, or what she was doing in a dingy alley in Sado City.  Was she on an errand for Shishou?  For herself?  For someone else?  She wasn’t quite sure. 

Part of her knew she should know better than that, that she should know where she was going and why.  It was important for a  _ geijutsuka  _ to know as much as she could, knowledge was the ultimate power, and knowledge was her sword.  She yielded with great skill.

Did she?  She seemed to have lived a life where she did, and where she didn’t.  She remembered an entire life, where she’d grown up, gotten married, played the cello, had children.  She’d lived a whole life.  It must have been dream, because she was only 16, walking the streets of Sado City, by herself, on an errand.

How strange to remember an entire life from a dream.  The air around her was misty, like the dream memories of that other life, of a grown up Nikka.  Was it the time of year for mist like this?  The city often fogged up, being in the lowlands on the island, so she was unconcerned that she could only see a few feet ahead of her as she walked.

A scratching noise came from her right.  It reminded her of an insect, a cockroach perhaps, and her entire side tingled in repulsion.  No, it couldn’t be a cockroach, the sound was too loud, to heavy.  Did cockroaches come in a size that could make such a heavy skittering?  Did any insect?  For some reason, she couldn’t remember.

Where was she going again?

Something fell over just behind her, and the fog seemed to close in on her.  The skittering noise increased, and so did her footsteps, in her white canvas shoes that seemed to glow in the night, the only thing not obscured in the light of the mist.  She could see things moving just outside of her vision.  

No, she couldn’t speed up any more, she had to look like she was in control.  That is what a geijutsuka of her calibre did.  No matter how frightened, how distraught, how anything she felt inside, she had to maintain her composure.  She was a lady, a daughter of Japan, and she would prove her country, and her shishou, proud.

So she took small steps, pleasing steps, holding her head up straight, as if her neck were on display for a group of ancient aristocrats at a dinner party at the Asakami Estate.  She could still hear the skittering, the occasional knocking over of something, the beating of her heart in her ears.  She blinked, telling herself to relax her facial muscles.  She just had to get to where she her destination.

She knew where she was going, she just didn’t know where she was going was.

The scurrying was in much quicker time than her small footsteps, but may have echoed her heartbeat.  She would have been able to tell if she could see what was moving just out of her vision.  She stopped, turning to her right.  As soon as she did, her skin on her torso began to crawl and the sound stopped.  Walking to the edge of the alley, the wall of the building came into view, but there was nothing else.  Nothing that could have caused the noise and no sign that anything other than a wall had ever been there.

She started walking again, and the chittering followed her, the hair on the back of her neck raising in alarm.  The titching began to climb together, to become a type of beat, like hoofs on the asphalt.  She fought to keep her footsteps steady, to keep herself from running like a frightened child.  The clicking stopped whenever she did, so that she had to wonder if she wasn’t imagining the noise, just as she had imagined the life where she was grown up.

No, she wasn’t imagining it, not the skittering or the clicking of footsteps.  Someone was trying to make her cower, to make her afraid.  A flame of anger sparked in her chest, she would cringe to no one, not even Miyabi-shishou.  She was the jewel of House Asakami, her voice was powerful, she was powerful.  She whirled around to face the way she’d come, a scowl on her pretty face.  “Show yourself!” she called out, not entirely sure there was something there to show.

The clicking turned into a thumping, like a heavy boot hitting the ground.  She would not show that she was afraid.  She would not  _ be _ afraid.

In the mist, emerged a turquoise blue blob, its shape obscured by the beclouded air.  As it became clearer, she could see that it was huge, towering above the tall buildings that surrounded her.  A giant foot, bare with a gold anklet resting at the juncture of its leg, emerged from the fog, followed by a powerful calf, then thigh.  All of it was green blue, except for the gold jewlery about its arms, and the tiger skin loincloth it wore.  Black hair, hanging lankily from a ghastly head which sported fangs and a terrifying grimace loomed above her.  In one hand the creature held a club made of rough hewn wood.  With his free hand he reached down to grab her, to crush the life out of her, to prevent her from going wherever it was she was going.

“Oni!”  Her voice boomed through alleyway, the mist seeming to crush her as its hand  the size of her entire body, came closer  and closer.  “Stop!”

It paused for a moment.  And for a moment, she thought she was free, that she could flee.  But then, in a rush, the hand reached for her.

She screamed and rolled out of the bed.

Tangled in the sheets, she fell to the floor with a thump.  She was disoriented, she wasn’t in an alleyway.  She wasn’t at home.  Where was she?  Then she remembered.  She was in New York City, at Saki’s, no The Shredder’s, base of operations.  

She scrambled to her feet, attempting to shake the binding sheet from her body as she did so, half hopping toward the kamidana that hung on the wall.  Free of her bonds, she raced to the shelf, her breath in ragged gasps, and grabbed a small, jade monkey from it, pressing against her forehead and closing her eyes.

 


	23. Chapter 23

Casey Jones reached into his hoodie pocket for his phone, keeping one hand on his bike as he walked it.

“Who is it?” asked April, carrying her books close to her chest as usual, as they walked toward her home.

He glanced at the text and almost dropped the phone.

**Allie Dee: Got hockey practice 2nite?**

He shoved  the phone back in his pocket as quickly as his one hand allowed.  “Uh, it’s just one of my teammates,” he said, “asking if we have practice tonight.”  God, he hoped his cheeks weren’t turning red.

“Wouldn’t he know when practice is?” April gave him a sidelong glance.  “It’s the same as always, isn’t it?”

“Sometimes he gets confused,” Casey shrugged, trying to keep his voice at a moderate speed.  “You know, with things still getting back to normal after the Invasion.  Too many blows to the head, I think.”

She smiled at him, that sideways smile that sent his stomach flopping.  “You’ve had too many blows to the head, Jones.”

“Yeah, well,” he brought his free hand to the back of his neck.  “My good looks will make up for it.”

They stopped at the steps to her brownstone.  “Thanks for walking me home, Casey,” she said warmly.  “I’ll see you tomorrow at our ‘spot’?”

He nodded, “Right after the hockey game.”

He watched her go inside, then hopped on his bike toward home.  He turned in the third side alley from April’s building, jumped off his bike, and dug in his pocket for his phone.

**Casey Jones: No, u free?**

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes until he heard the phone ding again.

**Allie Dee: Only if u r.**

Only if he was? Did she have other plans if he wasn’t?  Was she trying to be snarky?   _Jones, answer her!_

Taking a deep breath, he pressed out the words.

**Casey Jones: Sure, u got sumthin in mind?**  

Did that make him sound like a dork?  Is that something Donnie would say to April?  That was usually his dork meter.  

**Allie Dee: I do.**   **Meet me at our hideout.**

Casey felt his cheeks burning those same words repeated by two girls.   _Our_ hideout, she called it.  Did this make him a player? _No,_ he told himself. _You have to actually be dating them in order to be a player._ He wasn't dating either. _So, I'm not cheating on anybody_.

**Casey Jones: Sure thing! C u 2nite.**

He laughed, hopped on his bike and headed home.  It looked like it was going to be another early bedtime for Casey at the Jones household.

As he made a show of brushing his teeth, yawning loudly, and bidding his father and sister goodnight, his phone rang.  Raph’s photo, smiling with a can of paint in his hands, glowed on the screen.   _No!_  He swiped it to voicemail.   _I don’t want to talk to you right now._  He knew he shouldn’t still be angry, but he was.  A little.  He and Raph had made up weeks ago, but a little frustration still brewed in Casey Jones’ chest.  There were the little snide remarks that the Turtles would make, that they were better than he and April.  He thought back to the song that he and Alice had written together.   _I need to ask her for a copy of it,_ he reminded himself.

He dressed in his vigilante gear, his phone ringing again.  Raph, once more, glowed at him.  He swiped it to voicemail.   _Go away._  Jumping out of his window, he started to skate to Alice’s hideout.

_Their_ hideout.  He giggled girlishly, then clamped his hand over his mouth.  Did that sound really come out of his mouth?   _Get it together man!_ _You’re beginning to sound like Donnie!_  And Donnie was the last person he wanted to sound like.  Especially in front of someone like Alice.

She was waiting for him, lounging on the beanbag, holding a beer.  Her bleach blond hair peeked out messily from a pageboy hat.  Her denim shorts were jagged, and she wore them with thigh high purple and black striped socks.  Her combat boots completed the outfit. Her guitar case was nowhere to be seen.  She gestured to the chair, clinking the beer she held with the rest of the six pack she’d brought.  “Care for a drink?”

His stomach flopped at the thought.  The last time he’d drank with her, he could only remember snippets of the night, and he couldn’t remember at all how he got home.  His had pounded the next day, so badly he’d vomited and stayed home from school.  “I must have a stomach bug,” he’d told April on the phone.  She’d oo’d and aw’d over him, and even brought him chicken soup and crackers after school.  He’d almost vomited again when he ate them.

“Uh, no thanks,” he muttered.   _Man, she is going to think I’m a lightweight._

She shrugged.  “Suit yourself.”  She took a long draught of the bottle she was holding, then placed it on the floor, empty.

When she reached for another one, Casey cleared his throat.  “Actually, now that I see you with one…”  She smiled, opened the bottle and handed it to him.    “So, what do you have planned for us tonight?”   _Good save, Casey Jones!  Play it smooth._

“There is a brick wall on the side of the Chesterfield Businesses Building with our names written on it.”  She grabbed herself a beer and took a swig.  “Or, at least it will have when we’re done with it.”  She jostled the knapsack at her side, the click of spray cans coming from it.

“Aw, man,” he moaned.  “I didn’t bring my paints.”

She giggled and winked at him.  His stomach flopped for a reason totally unrelated to beer.  “I’ve got plenty.  And if we need some more, we’ll get some more.”

He swallowed.  “From where?”

She stood up, a smiling teasingly.  “The store, of course.  Where else would we get them?”

He breathed a sigh of relief.  

She put the knapsack on her back, picked up the beer, and put her arm through his.  “You didn’t think I was going to steal it, did you?”  Her big brown eyes feigned hurt.

“Uh,” he looked down at her arm, then back at her face.  “Well, I--”   _You’re blowing it, dorkface!_

“Really Casey.”  She elbowed him gently in the ribs.  “Just because I deface personal property, doesn’t mean I’m a thief.”  He felt his cheeks turning fire engine red, and she laughed.  “You’re so cute,” she told him as they walked down the street.

He looked away from her.  If he didn’t, he was sure he was going to explode from all the blood rushing to head.

“Hey,” she said gently.  “I want to apologize for being MIA lately.”

He turned to look at her, their arms still laced.  She’d been MIA?   He hadn’t seen her in three weeks, but she had texted him during that time.   _Not getting together for three weeks is MIA?_ He took a deep breath to release the seizing in his throat. “I just figured you were busy,” he said, “you know, with your music and your ex…”   _Please don’t be busy with your ex-boyfriend._

“I was busy with my music,” she said.  “Haven’t talked to my ex since he showed up at my apartment drunk and wanting a booty call.”  She pursed her lips together, “I don’t do booty calls.”

Casey laughed at that.  “No, I‘d think you’d kick someone’s butt for trying to make a booty call.”

“I did kick his butt, the yanker.”  She rolled her eyes and huffed.  “And I was writing songs about that loser.”

“So what’s kept you so busy?” Casey asked.

“I’ve had some family issues,” her voice dropped a little, her Brooklyn accent getting thicker.  “I have to go back home for a little while.  I gotta sort some stuff out with my Mom.”  She rolled her eyes again.

“You’ll still be in the city, though?” he asked, throwing his empty bottle into a trash can as they passed it.

She got another beer out for him.  “No, my Mom is far away from here.”  She took a swig from her own bottle.

“The rest of your family is in Brooklyn?”  Her accent was more than proof she’d grown up in the borough.

“Yeah,” she leaned her head on his arm for a moment.  “And all my friends, too.”

He looked away, his cheeks burning as a goofy grin broke out on his face.  “You have a big family?”

She chuckled.  “Huge.”  She untangled his arm from hers.  “But enough of this serious stuff.”  She bounced, then began to run backwards ahead of him.  “We’re here to play!”

He held up his beer, smiling his toothless smile.  “Yeah!”

When they reached Chesterfield Businesses, Casey’s phone rang again.  “Uhg,” he groaned, swiping it to voicemail.

“Who was that?” Alice asked.

“My friend, Raph.”  He didn’t want to think about Raph right now.  He was probably out with his brothers, roaming the city, kicking in the teeth of bad guys.  He scowled.

“You’re not still mad at him, are you?”  She began to shake a spray can of paint.

Casey felt frustration tightening his chest once again.  “He can be a real jerk sometimes.”

Her brows drew together.  “Aw, don’t be mad at him,” she crooned.  “He’s your best friend.”

Immediately, his chest loosened, his shoulders dropped, and he felt all the remnants of his anger with Raphael melt away.  He took a deep breath, and it felt like a huge weight had been lifted off of his back.  Holding himself up seemed physically lighter.  

Alice threw a paint can to him.  “Time to get to work, Casey Jones.”

“Sure thing, Allie Dee,” he caught it and began to shake.

She stopped in mid-shake.  “Allie Dee?”

“Yeah,” Casey scratched the back of his neck.  “It’s a nickname.”

She smiled at him, biting her bottom lip.   “I like it.”

 His stomach flopped.  

They finished their beers as they prepped the cans, then they both got to work on the blank wall.  Casey felt like he was in a complex team maneuver, or had been forced to quit hockey and ice dance, like in those dumb movies his sister made him watch.  Only this wasn’t dumb.  Alice and he seemed to be so synced in their painting, like they knew what the other was thinking.  She completed strokes for him, feathered and mixed colors in ways that he was just about to do.  He felt dizzy occasionally, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the beer he had drank, or the fumes from the paint, or a little of both.

His phone rang again.  He let out a grunt, and dug in his pocket.

“Is it Raph?” Alice asked, spraying a wide, purple arc.

“Yeah,” Casey said guiltily.

“Answer it,” she motioned toward his phone.  “He obviously wants to talk to you.”

“You don’t mind?”  He glanced down at the glowing picture of the turtle.

“He’s your best friend,” she clicked her tongue.  “Talk to him.”

The urge to answer the phone swelled up in him so suddenly and strongly that he almost dropped it trying to swipe it before it rang out.  “Yo, Raph.”  Did he sound excited?  He couldn’t tell.

“I’ve been trying to reach you all night,” Raphael said on the other end of the phone.  He was in an area where his T-phone was getting poor reception, Casey could tell, by the tinny tone to the turtle’s voice.  “Where the shell are you?”

“What, are you my mother?” Casey snapped.  He felt like the rug had been pulled out from under him.  He’d been so excited to talk to him, and then the jerk goes and—

Alice put her hand on his shoulder.  He glanced down at her, and she smiled at him sweetly, her eyebrows raised.  “It’s OK,” she whispered.  “He’s worried about you.”

Did she hear what Raph was saying?  _Of course she hears it, he’s practically yelling._  “I’m out,” he said, ignoring the snide comment Raph had answered in being accused of acting as Casey’s mother. 

“Out where?” he asked.  “I checked all your normal places.  I didn’t see you.”

The feeling of being dishonest, massaged his shoulders.  _I’m not cheating on anyone!  I’m not even dating anyone to cheat on!  I’m not making a new best friend either.  I’m not doing anything wrong!_   “Just out,” he replied tersely.

“Are you OK?” Raph asked.

Casey wanted to kick himself in the butt.  He was blowing it with April, he was blowing it with Alice, and now, he was blowing it with Raph.  “I’m fine, Raph.  Listen, I’m busy right now.  I’ll—I’ll talk to you later, bro.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, but then Raph replied, “Alright.  I’ll call you later.”

Casey put his phone back in his pocket, just as Alice handed him another beer.  “You made that sound so much harder than it needed to be,” she giggled.  “He’s your friend, Casey.  He just wants to know what you’re up to.  You said he likes to tag, you should have invited him out here.”

How could he explain to her that Raph was a walking, talking man sized turtle?  He couldn’t invite him out here with her.  But, “That would be so cool,” he said.

“Then call him back and invite him,” she slapped his arm playfully.     

The contact made more than his stomach jump.  “Nah,” he said, looking away from her.  “He’s too shy.”

She laughed, “He doesn’t sound shy, the way you describe him.”

“That’s because he knows me,” Casey said quickly. _Dammit Jones, what’s the matter with you?  How much have I told her about Raph anyway?_ He couldn’t quite remember.    

“We need to finish our masterpiece,” Alice said.    She took a swig of beer, a new one, Casey noticed, and then held it out for him.

A little voice in his head told him not to drink it, but he squashed it down like the annoying bug it was.  Casey Jones could hold his drink.  And she was offering him a bottle her lips had already been on.  No, it isn’t cheating.  You have to actually kiss someone for it to be cheating.  I’m not cheating on Red.  He took the bottle and guzzled it the remainder of it down.

The next thing he knew, he was almost home.  He was walking.  _Well, trying to walk would be a more accurate description,_ he told himself.  It almost sounded like Red’s voice, or was it Raph’s?

“Where the shell are you?” _that_ was Raph’s voice.

Casey had the phone to his ear.  Had he called Raph or had Raph called him?  “I love you, man,” he almost sobbed into the phone.

“Casey, are you on something?”  Raph’s voice sounded genuinely worried.

“I’m high on life, Raph,” he said.  His tongue didn’t want to form the words his brain was saying.  “On life!”

“You sound like Mikey…” Raph’s voice was gentle.  “That’s not good.”

“It’s all good, Raph,” Casey insisted.  “I went out and tagged, and Alice told me to not be mad at you, ‘cause you’re my best friend and she was right.      I’m sorry I wrote that song about you, dude.  I love you!”

“Casey, _where_ are you?” The brief gentleness in Raph’s voice was now gone.  “Better still, stay wherever you are, and I’ll come get you.”

“No!” Casey slurred loudly. He looked around, had anyone heard him?  “Shhhhhh,” he told the receiver, “I don’t want to wake my dad up.”  How would he wake his dad up?  Oh, yeah, because he was in his living room.  How did he get there?

 “Are you at home?”

“Yeah,” Casey said.  “Uh,” he bumped into the wall, smacking his head right above his right eye. 

“Casey!”  He could hear Raph moving on the other end of the phone.

“No,” Casey repeated.  “No, no.  It’s OK.  I gotta go to school tomorrow, and it’s really late.  I gotta go to sleep, Allie Dee said so.”  He didn’t remember her saying so, but she must have, because he wouldn’t have any reason to lie about it. 

“Who’s Allie Dee?” Raph demanded.

Casey dumped his body on his bed, his hockey sticks still on his back.  “Alice,” he said.  “She was right.  You gotta love your friends.  And I love you, did I tell you that, Raph?”

“Yes, you did.”  Raph did not sound impressed with Casey’s confession, and it irked him slightly. 

Casey’s stomach said something to him, but he wasn’t sure what it was at first.  Then he realized it was, “I’m gonna hurl,” and he scrambled to get off of the bed.  “Talk t’y’later,” he said quickly.  “Gotta—“ he didn’t get a chance to finish before hanging up and diving for the toilet across the hall.


	24. Chapter 24

Saki had to hold back his vexation at Nikka as his private plane landed in Sado City.  She had argued with him about their itinerary, something he was entirely unaccustomed to.  His irritation had nowhere to go, much as when his minions failed due to something beyond their control.  Unfortunately, unfunneled frustration had a tendency to fester inside of him like a sore.

“It is going to look suspicious of we go straight to Sado City without going through Tokyo,” Nikka had argued.  

_ Suspicious of what?  Being rich? _  He hadn’t worked to be where he was in his life to be accountable to airports.  He held back his tongue.  “How is the daughter of The Lady Asakami coming home to her own island going to look suspicious?”

Nikka frowned.  “Because people coming from the US go through Tokyo,” she insisted.

“I have it taken care of,” he told her.

“How?” Her voice rose.

He growled at her, then took a deep breath in, pushing the anger that was building in him out through his back.

She turned, huffing in reflected aggravation, her hands in fists.  

The display of emotion was the most she’d shown in a while and Miyabi’s words from David’s funeral came back to him as he watched her shoulders,  _ Let’s hope it isn’t you that snaps her out of it, eh Saki? _  A small stab of fear poked him, that this was the beginning of the ice that clung to her breaking, and when the volcano exploded it would be in his direction.  He was not afraid of the explosion itself, it would be nothing to him, but a breeze blowing in spring.  But it would mean he would have to do something about it, and the only course of action left to him would be to eliminate her.

What a waste that would be.

He let the poke of anxiety exit him, in a straight line as it had come, so that he was left calm once more.  He had worked too hard to have his efforts thwarted by a stupid woman’s show of power.  She might be the geijutsuka, but he was the ninjutsu master.  It took only a child listening to fairy tales to know which one was greater.

In the end, his concern was useless, Nikka did nothing to try his hand.   That left him just as annoyed as if she had, for now he had to release the feeling of stolen thoughts, and the tendril of fear that paranoia was beginning to set in his mind.  

“Do you think she’ll like it?” Nikka brought him from his thoughts as the plane came to a stop on the runway.

“Of course, she will like it,” he growled.  Their trip to Sado had not occurred with a summons from an angry Asakami Miyabi, as he had expected, but Greta’s birthday approaching.

“We should have gotten her a pony,” Nikka muttered.  “Little girls always like ponies.” 

Saki resisted yelling, “Where in the world would you put a pony?” and said, instead, “Stop worrying.”

She sighed, standing up, and he could feel what little of her ki had pressed against him retreat back to cling to her, making her almost absent energetically.  He wanted to slap her across the face, so that she flew across the pit in the plane, to wake her up.  He held his hand out to her, leading her in front of him to exit the plane.

They walked calmly through the terminal, bypassing baggage claim altogether and made their way to the taxi deck.   With each step, each person that Saki passed made an impression on him, like a press in silly putty, only to be rebuffed, the indentation on his energy bouncing back as if nothing had touched him.  However, he felt the same energy several times, in the same place on his body, coming from different directions, like a drip from a faucet of water on a still pool, sending disruptive waves scattering about.

“We’re being followed,” he said quietly, placing his hand on Nikka’s hip and guiding her down a less used corridor.

He felt her energy widen slightly.  Her demeanor became less agitated, her shoulders even dropping a bit.  “How many?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“Six,” he replied.   

Nikka bent down, as if she were brushing a bug from her calf.  Saki was impressed with how lightly she looked about them, her head barely moving, her large blue eyes quick and lithe.  “I only see two,” she said.  “In the black pants and t-shirts?”

“There are two behind us,” he explained, as if to a student, a note of pleasure in his voice.  “One each flank, one to the far left, and one ahead of us.”

“All in black pants and t-shirts?” she asked again.

“The material is meant to allow freedom of movement.”  Once more, he  put his hand around her on her hip, and pulled her closer to him.  

Moving as if being lead in a dance, she matched his footfalls, her hip brushing his with each step.  “Martial artists?”

“Not very good ones,” he growled.

The taxi deck became eerily quiet as the last of the waiting cars drove away.  The click of Nikka’s high heels echoed off the concrete walls and floor, the footfalls of the six people following them, whispers brushing the  _ ki  _ near his ears.  He slowed his pace, Nikka matching him step for step.  He felt her energy against his, calm and firm.  

The person in front of them stopped, the others closed in on them, moving from shadow to shadow, closer to what looked to the rest of the world as two business associates walking down the darkened deck toward the entrance, waiting for a taxi to come and fetch them.   _ This _ was the most exciting part of any encounter, the tiny place between what happened before and would happen next.  Like the space between thoughts, it was a place of infinite possibility, a place where anything could happen.  His gait slowed even more, savoring the emptiness of happening.

Then the  _ ki _ about him moved, just before the people from the shadows did.  He stepped away from Nikka, just as three of the men came from the darkness.  Like a choreographed scene from a film, Saki let out a kick to his left, the kinetic energy from his leg connecting with his assailant at just the right angle and force to send him sprawling across the lot, skidding the concrete so hard that he hit a post with enough force to leave him on the ground, never to get up.

Saki noted with satisfaction that Nikka was appropriately out of the way, taking her cue correctly.  LIke a teacher pleased with their student, that she still knew her part in the dance, that their years of working together still held, like a red thread of fate attaching them.  

Two streaks of silver caught his vision, their trajectory headed right toward the geijutsuka’s head.   With a wave of his arm, two shuriken flew to meet the two already in the air.  A high pitched clink sent them skewing to the side, Nikka flinching at the sound, her gaze going to where they landed on the concrete floor, eyes wide.

Sensing another ninja coming at him from behind, he brought his arm up in a block, then, without a pause, two punches sent the man sprawling.  The third was on him in an instant, his face colliding with Saki’s foot as if he meant for it to do so.  His head twisted to the side, and with help from Saki’s arm, the tell tale crack of his neck made him fall to floor.

The other three surrounded him in a triangle.   _ I am patient _ , Saki told himself.   _ I am present. _  He could feel their fear in the air, travelling along invisible lines of connection that years of training had given him access to.  He could also feel that they did not know, they could not feel the unseen around them in a distinct way, other dimensions of reality were not yet in their grasp. 

Lines of energy moved before any of their bodies did, but he felt it, travelling along the aether, so that he blocked, hit, kicked, danced in a blur that did not even allow the three men coming at him to register what was happening to their bodies as they were thrown about the deck.

A blue light suddenly blazened, a siren clarion calling through the concrete.  Saki turned, scowling, to see Nikka standing next to an emergency call button, having pressed it down, her face showing no emotion whatsoever.

“Why did you do that?” he asked, bounding toward her.  One of the men he’d knocked down came at him again.  He batted him away like a fly, his irksomeness becoming full blown anger at the woman before him.

“There are cameras,” Nikka answered, not seeming demurred by his tone of voice or body language.  “They’ve caught everything on tape.”

For a moment, it didn’t register why that mattered.    _ I am patient, _ he intoned,  _ I am present. _  He was not standing here with her as The Shredder, but as Oroku Saki.   _ Rather inconvenient. _

Another man came at them, and Saki pushed Nikka away from the button, his hand flat on her chest, sending her sprawling across the concrete floor.  Then, not even a blink of an eye later, the lesser ninja had his throat in Saki’s hand, and was pressed against the button cage where Nikka had been standing only a moment before.  

“Who sent you?” he demanded.

The man said nothing.

Saki growled, “Very well,” he said.  His large hand began to squeeze the man's throat, the brown eyes, bright and full of life, going wide with terror.  

“Saki,” Nikka said, getting to her feet.  “The authorities.”

He glanced in her direction, and saw four uniformed policemen running their way. His grip tightened on the man's neck, the fear in his eyes turning dull, as the ninja in his grasp lost consciousness. 

He threw the man to the ground, as Nikka walked calmly, her heels clicking as she did, toward the policemen.  He could hear her speaking, her voice pleasant to listen to.   

“Oh, thank goodness, you can see you were just in time.  Why yes, that is Oroku Saki, the martial arts champion.  Why yes, he did take care of it.  I would imagine he would give you an autograph if you asked him nicely.  Oh, why thank you,   No, he doesn’t compete any longer, we are here to visit my mother.  Why yes, she is the Lady Asakami…”

With bows and apologies, the police approached, one of them, indeed, asking for his autograph.  “I watched every one of your matches when I was younger,” he said excitedly.  “I begged my father to take me to one of the competitions in Tokyo.”

“Did he win the competition?” Nikka asked the policeman with a smile.

Saki suppressed a growl.

“Of course, he did,” the policeman gushed like a teenage fangirl.  “Thank you, Oroku-san, thank you.”

Again, with much bowing and thank yous and a quick, “I am sure that you can keep this incident quiet, we wouldn’t want our holiday ruined,” by Nikka, they were on their way to their car again.

As they approached the Acura, the driver was putting their luggage in the back.  He held the door open for each of them to slide in the back.  Once inside the waiting vehicle, Nikka reached over the back seat to the driver.  “You need to keep your eyes on the road,” she said, an edge to her voice, “and your ears to yourself.”  Then she turned to Saki, her eyes blazing.  “I didn’t get to question any of them!”

“And, how, exactly,” he answered lethally, “were you going to do that with the cameras watching?”

“You are lucky I saw those cameras,” she snapped.  “You were going about killing people willy nilly.  I had to get all of those policemen’s phone numbers, to make sure they stay quiet.”

Saki waved his hand, having their information just made what he would have someone else done easier.  “I will take care of it.”

He felt her ki explode, pressing against him, as her lips pursed together.  “No you won’t,” she said, “I will.”

He took a deep breath, anger simmering in his chest threatening to overtake him.  Expecting her to make some sort of move against, him, he hadn’t expected it to be in a car, alone save for the driver, over covering up an assassination attempt.  He cursed for not having seen it before, and for not knowing exactly what ‘it’ was.  Why would she do this now?  Here?  What did she have to gain by it, without an audience?  ”Having some of the authorities in Sado  in my employ will be helpful.”  He leaned forward, “In discovering who is behind this annoying little game.”

While she did not lean forward to meet him, she did not back away, either.  Squinting, she asked, “Are you accusing me of being unable to do my job?”

Pausing in the space created by her very last word, he felt the tension slide from him in a familiar and practiced way.  It was not relief, but akin to it, sliding the apprehension off of his skin like a silk sheet.  He had misread her.  He quelled the heat of anger building in his chest before it was able to ignite into anything other than a coal.  It was not often, any longer, than he was wrong when encountering another human being.  She was not making any kind of powerplay.  That is what **_he_** would have done, and she was not him.  “I have little doubt,” he replied lowly, “that you could not do your job.”

Her face still petulant, she said, “If you want them in your employ, all you had to do was ask.  You needn’t try to do it yourself.”

He waved his hand at her dismissively, leaning back on the leather seat.

She let out a small huff, turning away from him, still scowling.  She scooted closer to him, however, so that her hip touched his, but kept her face looking out of the window.  This powerplay, which he recognized instantly, was so childish, he did not have the energy to get upset about it.

Once Nikka’s anger dissipated, the feeling of her ki retreating into her again, to simply hug her body like a second skin, the ride was left in comfortable silence. 

The role of the geijutsuka was a consummate helper.  Her training in entertainment, like that of her close sister, the geisha, was often misinterpreted as merely a way to seduce, whether the body or the mind, it didn’t matter.  Saki, himself, had thought the same thing in his youth, until a casual remark was caustically corrected by Hamato Yuuta.  Since then, experience had taught him much. 

It was her purpose to make sure that social and informational aspects of a household ran smoothly, that all that was supposed to be known was known.  While she  might not be the matriarch of a house, she was still an integral part of its ability to maintain its social status. Whereas the currency of the ninja was stealth, agility, the ability to kill without mercy, the currency of the geijutsuka was social grace and information.  In the world where he grew up, a mix of  ancient and modern, she had lost her place, like the ninja, to that of a fairy tale figure, a ghost that no longer existed. 

Saki did not often think of his clan as a household.  He had no need to, there were others who took care of that part of his life, servant hidden in shadows, as they should be, making sure the machine was well dusted and ran unruffled.  But, he knew logically, it was one.  His people had wives, husbands, children.  Food was bought, household items, people paid their wages.  Just because he only dealt with precious few in his organization now, did not mean that it was not a household.

It appeared that she had decided to be a part of it.  With her introduction into The Foot Clan’s activities in the underworld, it would be only natural that Mistress Veronika, the geijutsuka should decide to take on a place in that environment.  A tickle of doubt wiggled its fingers in the back of his brain.   _ Wouldn’t it? _

He brushed a strand of her hair away from her neck, she turned and gave him a small smile, looking him in both eyes, as always.   Then she broke contact, and tapped the driver on the shoulder.  “Turn left up here,” she instructed.

The cityscape changed to the more mountainous region of the northern part of the island, until it became the thin, winding roads that lead only to villages and homesteads.  Perhaps he would be able to ride in the mountain, if Miyabi still had any motorcycles as the Estate.  It was always peaceful, doing that.


	25. Chapter 25

Arriving at the Asakami Estate, they were greeted with bows, pats on the back, hugs, and “welcome home”s.  The driver unloaded their luggage, received a generous tip from his passengers, and then drove away, leaving Saki, once again, in the middle of what seemed like a medieval fairy tale.

The place had changed precious little since he’d last been there so many, many years ago.  He wondered briefly if they’d gotten running water in that time, and if they had, did they have indoor plumbing?  

The Lady Asakami greeted them in the parlor, Ashton and Greta leaping from whatever ancient game the woman was trying to teach them toward their mother’s waiting arms.  Raiku was also there, standing next to her Shishou, watching languidly as Aya and the children surrounded Nikka.

He observed with satisfaction that, only minutes before, in the car on the way up, she had retreated completely inside of herself again, barely anything but a shell sat beside him.  But as soon as she began to greet people, the geijutsuka came into play.  While her energy still clung to her, not a soul there could tell.  He wondered if her mother even could.  Her greeting of her children, filled with hugs, kisses, and ‘I love you’s, would have won a Tony award had it been on the stage.

Miyabi smiled warmly, looking on as if she’d orchestrated the entire thing.  Nikka gave each of the children a hug and a kiss before going to her Shishou and enclosing the old woman in a tight embrace.  Miyabi kissed the top of Nikka’s head tenderly, saying “Welcome home, child.”

Nikka answered with only a smile, before turning to Raiku, still at Miyabi’s side, and embracing her, too.  Raiku, for her part, fully enveloped the younger woman with a smile.  It unsettled Saki.  He was expecting a gracious reception between the two at best, not one where they seemed genuinely happy to see each other.  Raiku gave Nikka the same greeting as their teacher had, “Welcome home.”

Miyabi drifted slightly toward Saki, and seeing her do so, he approached her, both stopping and bowing, though with each of them it was more of a nod of the head than anything else.  Standing beside him, she said, “I trust your trip was pleasant.”

He gave her a sidelong glance.  “It would be more pleasant if the roads were paved.”

“But then we’d be easy to get to, Saki” she replied.  “And the entire point of this place is to be hard to get to, isn’t it?”

“1000 years ago,” he argued.

“Little has changed, in 1000 years,” she said.

“Mommy, Mommy!” Greta chanted.  “My birthday!”

“Yes,” Nikka sang, embracing Aya with one arm while holding her daughter with the other.  “We came just in time for your birthday.  And I have a wonderful birthday present for you!”

“A pony!” Greta announced.

Nikkal laughed, “No honey, I didn’t get you a pony.”

“Baba-sama got me a pony,” she said, twisting to point to Miyabi.

The smile disappeared from Nikka’s face, and she looked at Greta as if she’d never seen her before.  The color drained from her visage, obvious even with her make-up on.  She appeared at a total loss, as she took in her daughter’s beaming face.  “I beg your pardon?” she asked.

“Baba-sama got her a horse for her birthday,” Ashton elaborated, jumping up and down.  “She said I can pick out my own for next year!”

Nikka turned her face to her mother, who stood tall and proud, her white hair piled flawlessly on her head.  A small smile played on her painted, red lips.   The two women stared at each other for a long moment, Saki could feel the tension so strongly, he was sure he could grab it with no effort at all, and pull both of them along with it, out of the room and into the courtyard.  Aya and Raiku were not immune to it either.  While the latter seemed not ruffled at all by the revelation, her eyes did shift from Nikka to Miyabi.  Aya, however, looked at Saki worriedly, biting her lip.  He made eye contact with her briefly, only to let her know that he saw her, noted her concern, but that the concern was not hers to worry about.   She took his lead, her body language softening, her attention turning back to Nikka.

Then the tension snapped, like a cord that was cut.

Nikka beamed, turning back to Greta, kissing her loudly.  “She did, did she?” she sang.  “You will have to show me.  We can go riding.”  She put the girl down and began to walk out of the house, without so much as a word to anyone else around her.

“You ride horse, Mommy?” Greta asked.

“I will ride a horse,” she affirmed.  “Maybe I can show you tricks.”

“You know how to do trick on a horse?” Ashton’s voice was incredulous.

“I most certainly do,” Nikka’s voice faded as they walked away.  “Any geijutsuka knows how to ride a horse.”

“What’s a geijutsuka, Mommy…?”

“Are you not going with her?” Miyabi asked Saki, motioning to the door with her head.

“I was unaware that was my place,” he growled.

“I never said that it was,” she turned from him, and began walking toward one of the many doors that lead to the outside hallwalk.  “I merely asked if you were going with her.”  She glanced behind her.  “Is she in your employ at the moment?”

The agitation he’d felt earlier in the day flared again, directed at the old woman.  He fought, for only a moment, to hold his tongue, but then remembered who he was.  He was the Leader of the Foot Clan, scion of Koga Takuza, not one of her students, not a guest in her household.  “Does the Lady Asakami train her geijutsuka to be in the employ of others?  I would have thought that the province of a lesser master.”

Gratification wrapped around his chest as her lips tightened, only a little, showing him the barb had hit home.  “When they leave my house,” she said, “they do what they will with their skills.”

“Does the shishou not keep tabs on them?” he almost sang.

She glanced up at him, her black eyes showing no anger if she felt it.  “Does the sensei keep track of all of his students’ doings when they leave his tutelage?”

“The ones that are worthy of my tutelage, I do,” he replied, a smug smile on his scarred face.

“Did you teach Nikka that?” she asked scathingly.  “That one must be worthy of your tutelage?”

“I am unaware of it if I did,” he said.   They emerged in the inner hallwalk, one of the ponds tinkling gently as it ran over ornamental rocks, blobs of orange koi coming to the surface when they saw someone present.  “Does the great Lady Asakami find whomever comes to her worthy of her art?”

Miyabi sniffed disdainfully, turning her face away from him.  “There is a difference,” she explained, “in being worthy of being taught, and thinking oneself so great that no one is worthy.”  Turning back to him, she asked, “And how many students do you have, Saki?”

“More than Nikka,” he replied, a mental list of his students running through his head unbidden.  He let each face and name slide into his conscious, then out of it, leaving him to concentrate on the situation in front of him.

“One is more than Nikka has,” she shook her head.  “That isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.”  She waved her hand, as if she had summoned him to this isolated place, and his annoyance came back.  “How is Nikka holding up?”

“Why don’t you ask her?”

“Because she will lie to me,” Miyabi looked up at him, something she could do with precious few considering her great height, “and tell me she is fine.”

This wasn’t going at all like he wanted, like he expected.  Where were the accusations of misconduct?  Where was Raiku’s complaint of losing her employer?  Where was Miyabi’s anger at The Shredder’s interference?  He could hold it back no longer.  “How is Raiku doing?” Saki asked, clasping his hands behind him.

Miyabi shrugged.  “As well as one can, I suppose, when one loses their partner, Saki.”  She clicked her tongue.  “You should not have been so quick to dispose of him.  He would have made a good business partner, from what Raiku has told me.”  It was her turn to smile smugly.

He held back a growl.

“Oh, you kill a man because he offers your geijutsuka a job?”  She clicked her tongue again, before stopping at the door that he knew lead to her studio.  “You take everything much too personally, Saki.  You always have.”  Without waiting for his reply, she opened it, and disappeared inside.

 

With his hands in fists behind him, he turned, deciding to go to the dojo.  He had some thinking to do.

###

At dinner, Saki sat in the guest of honor’s place near Miyabi, with Nikka across from him, raiku next to her.  The children were farther down the table with Aya, but they continually got up to come and talk with their mother at the head of the table.   Saki had forgotten how inane small children could be, but then Karai has been rarely inane, even as a youngster.  His chest gripped his a sorrow so strong, it threatened to overtake him, before he was able to breathe in, and let it slide from him, down his front, dropping to his lap, and down to the floor, the earth beneath the wood absorbing it so it was no longer his.  For now.

“Will you do that again tomorrow, Mommy?” Ashton asked, standing between Miyabi and his mother.

“Your mother can do something else tomorrow,” Miyabi suggested.  “I am sure her thighs are tired from all the horseback riding.”

Nikka’s ki still clung to her, like she was walking golem, acting the part of good mother and daughter.  

“Unless she’s had other ways to exercise her thighs,” Raiku put in, holding Greta on her lap and feeding her little bits of dinner.

Nikka ignored the insinuation.  So did Saki.  “I’ll ride with you again tomorrow.”

“Will you do the ring trick, too?”  He bounced up and down.

“The ninjas can do better tricks than I can,” she said.

“Mommy jujusa,” Greta nodded her head, her golden waves bouncing.

Miyabi nodded back to her.  “That’s right.  You’ll be one when you grow up, too, won’t you?”

“No,” Nikka said quickly.  “She won’t.”  Before Miyabi could get her mouth open in reply, Nikka called, “Aya, come take the children to bed, please.”

The ninja turned nanny was at her side in a heartbeat.  “Shall I take them to your bedroom?” she asked softly.

“They’re already set up with you,” Miyabi answered.  “Take them to their own beds.”  She turned to the younger of her two fully grown students, “Nikka can have a night of peace in her own bed.”

“My own bed isn’t here,” she muttered.

Whether Miyabi heard it or not was debatable, as she did not address the statement.  “I’ve set your bedroom up for you,” she continued, then she turned to Saki.  “I’ve set yours up in the dojo.  I imagine you’d want some peace and quiet from the main house, after all of this,” she gestured grandly, her smile smug and knowing.

“If you had some students,” Raiku said to Nikka, “they could say in the room with mine.  But you don’t have any.”  She stuck her bottom lip out.  

“I have none because I don’t pick them up off the streets,” Nikka quipped.

“But you can’t even get _any_ off of the streets,” Raiku answered before turning to Saki.  “Do you get your students from the streets, Sensei?  Or just the docks?”

Nikka’s ki extended from her body, Saki could feel, but only slightly, were as Raiku’s shined like a beacon.  It reminded the ninja master of a peacock preening, trying to convince the other birds about it that it was the biggest and the best.  He suppressed a smug smile, which would have mirrored Miyabi’s earlier, he was sure, if he allowed his face to express it.

“Neither,” Saki growled.  “Though you seem to do a fine job picking up lovers from the docks.”

The conversation around them went silent, the tension rising considerably.  Miyabi’s energy remained steady, like a lighthouse, anchoring one in a storm.  No doubt, Saki mused, the old woman had decades of practice in dealing with teenage girls.  Something like this would not ruffle her feathers.  But a prize student’s feathers ruffled were better than none, and Saki’s ire had been building up for days, with no release.

“Is that any worse than where you find yours?” Raiku’s voice was haughty.  “In other men’s beds?”

“Enough!” Miyabi ordered before Saki could answer.  He felt for Nikka, expecting her to be farther away from her body than she was, but still her ki clung to her.  

With a very sad look on her face, she put her hand on Raiku’s shoulder.  “I know you were very close to him.  You were with him for a long time.  I am sorry he had to die.”

Raiku shot Saki a nasty look, “He didn’t have to die.”

“It is the downside of long term business,” Nikka said, as if she were quoting someone else.

Raiku seemed to deflate at the words, as she held Nikka’s hand in her own.

Saki wanted to reach across the table and slap them both down to the ground, leaving their cheeks red and noses bleeding.  It occurred to him, suddenly, he had no knowledge of what went on behind closed doors when training and geijutsuka.  He had always assumed that it was similar to how he trained his own students, in stealth, in shadows, in revenge.  Perhaps he had been mistaken.  That did not sit well with him.

“Now that you are not going back to the orchestra, you will have time to train some students,” Raiku said to Nikka.

“That’s true,” Miyabi said.  With those words, the conversation about them started up again, right where it had left off before the almost-fight between the geijutsuka and ninja.

Nikka shrugged, and reached for her tea cup.

“You look tired, Saki,” Miyabi said, reaching over and placing her hand over his.  

It was wrinkled and ancient, with a large ring on the middle finger and long, red nails, a relic from a time gone by.  He wanted to bat it away, but resisted.  “I will retire to the dojo,” he said, standing up without asking leave.

Miyabi smiled pleasantly, completely ignoring his faux pas.  “Would you like me to have someone walk you?” she asked.

“Has the dojo moved?” he snapped.

“No,” she replied languidly.

“Then I can find my way.”

Following the manicured path the far end of the property, where the dojo resided, he stopped at a divergence.  Instead of taking the one he knew lead him to his awaiting bed, he turned and went down the one that lead to ancestors shrine.  The path stopped in circle, with many little paths emanating from it.  He took the one that would lead him to the shrine of Koga Tamayori.

The shrine itself was beautiful, the wooden portico and brightly painted roof were a work of art in and of themselves.  The shelves, decorative paper with petitions, even the sandbox to hold the incense were all gorgeous to the look upon.  The statue that stood within, however, was obviously a much older relic that the shrine that held it.  The wooden icon, of a generic woman with her hands in the open mudra, welcoming whomever actually made it to this desolate place.  Her clothing was also the generic medieval attire that such artisans carved when the statue was made, probably only a few generations after the woman herself was dead.

Saki would have preferred her brother, Koga Takuza.  Though he was the one who created this place, he was not represented in the ancestor shrine here at all, leaving the entire place, both in life and after it, in the hands of his sister.  She would have to do.  He was not sure, however, that she would convey his messages to her brother, the one who trapped her, according to some accounts.  He did not make it a habit to pray to her, despite the plans he held for her household.  But how could he not hold her house in thoughts--he was destined to bring full glory, greater than ever before, to The Foot Clan.  His plan entailed regaining all that was rightfully his.  House Asakami included.

He knelt down in front of the statue, lighting a stick of sandalwood, and placing it in the sandbox.  

He had thought he was on the right track, with Raiku scampering back to her Shishou, but instead of a call of anger, he was shown only the petty sniping that occurred almost twenty years ago the first time he was here.  Everything else had fallen into his lap, so much of it without his actual planning it, that many times he needed only to nudge the world in one direction or the next.  Of course, that was as it should be, as it would be, when he had done the work needed in preparation.  He was a ninja master, after all.

But now, doubt gnawed at him, leaving annoyance in its wake.  He brushed the irritation aside, allowing the uncertainty to remain in the light of his meditation.   But as he examined it, no clarity came to him, he was left empty of direction, so that the vexation came again, covering him like a wave over the sand.

He stood up, bowing the statue in front of him, despite that her help seemed non-existent, and headed toward the dojo.  In the distance, he heard the rumbling of what sounded like thunder, only the cadence was wrong.  Then, the horses in the stable began to neigh agitatedly.   _Miyabi needs a new horsemaster,_ he curled his lip in disgust, _if he can’t keep the horses calm with a little bit of thunder._

 


	26. Chapter 26

Saki awoke before dawn as always, and had to fight disgust that the current sensei was not awake also.  No doubt the ninjas of House Asakami were just as pathetic now as they had been when he’d first arrived here all those years ago.  The caliber his training of the students had once brought to this place, he suspected, was all washed away by now.  Quieting his mind, bringing his attention to his body, he closed his eyes, and began his morning routine.

Moving his body through space with his attention inward, he entered that place of no thought, where he was one with everything and nothing at all, where he could attain anything, if only he could stay conscious enough.  But was that not the goal of every practitioner?  It was that ability, and that ability alone, that separated an ascended master from an earthly one.

He was a brought back to regular reality by a high pitched scream.  A woman’s, tight and terrified, grew louder.  

Ninja burst from the seams of the dojo, all headed toward the door, most in some type of sleepwear.  With all of them in the near dark, it was difficult to see what was going on outside once he joined them.   

“The horses!” cried a voice, and Saki saw that it had not been a woman who screamed at all, but a man, in work clothes.  “The stable!”

“What’s wrong with the stable?” someone asked, but the man did not answer, and continued running down the path to the main house.

Saki meandered toward the stable, being left behind as the rest of the dojo ran toward it, so that when he arrived, a hubbub had already begun.  The horsemaster stood off to the side, staring into space, blinking slowly, with his mouth hanging open.  His four apprentices stood about him, in a similar fashion, except that they were each on their knees.  All of them sported wet trousers, the stench of urine and feces coming from all of them.

“What happened here?” he asked.

The horsemaster simply stared into space, unanswering.

Saki shoved several people out of the way, making his way to the side door to the stable.  He suppressed a gag when he entered.  The smell of blood was so thick in the air that his first breath of it seemed to not be oxygen at all.  The hay that adorned the floor soaked it up, so it was a mush, coagulating in the cool, morning air.  Parts of horse were scattered about the building, like someone had come and grabbed bits of them by the handful and thrown them against the walls and floor.  Even the heads of the beasts were not intact; a lower jaw hung from a nail on a rafter, the top of a skull lay in the bog of the blood-covered hay.

He retreated from the stable, the thick air making it impossible to stay in it for too long.  As he exited, he saw servants for the main household on the path, Asakami Miyabi walking in the middle of them, like a queen among lesser beings.  Even in her great age, she held herself like a being of supreme power, her slowed walk or the fact she was wrapped in her housecoat did not diminish the effect.  The growing daylight shined off the of the rosy gold color, the emerald and sapphire hummingbirds, the symbol of House Asakami, almost sparkling with the movement of her legs.  As they approached, he saw Raiku and Nikka taking up the rear behind their teacher, their own bodies wrapped in silk robes, indicating they, too, were asleep when the alarm came.  

Some of the servants were opening the barn, and the smell of warm copper crashed out in a wave. The scene, shrouded in darkness only a moment ago, now laid bare to broad daylight.

The Lady of the Estate did not have to speak a word; everyone parted for her, both in front and behind, so that a clear path led from her to the horsemaster, and behind her to her two top students.  She covered her mouth as the smell of clotting blood hit her nostrils, her eyes squinting slightly as if the miasma was a physical thing affecting her vision.  Those around her followed suit, Raiku raising her lips in disgust before covering her mouth.

Saki walked over to Miyabi, and it was then that he felt it.

Even though her hand covered her mouth, Nikka’s blue eyes took in the tableau before her with a morbid interest.  She stepped to the side, someone being in her line of sight, gazing at the blood soaked stable as if she were memorizing the interior of it, or counting, to see if all of the horses were accounted for by their parts.  Her soft blue bed robe clung to her body in silky waves, accentuating her soft curves in the glowing light with the gold of dawn clinging to her hips, breasts, and shoulders.  And her aura no longer clung to her like a frightened child, but pulsed again like a vibrant living being.

_ Surely not… _ Saki shook his head and turned his attention back to Miyabi.

“We were attacked in the night?  Only our stable?”  She turned to the horsemaster, who still stared into the space, his trousers soiled.  “What happened?”

He did not answer.

Miyabi walked up to him, again covering her mouth.  “What happened here, Horsemaster?”   Her voice was so thick with suggestion that Saki could almost taste it.  He’d never felt it like this, and Nikka had used the skill so many times around him.  It was like Miyabi was pushing into the horsemaster’s skull, where Veronika wove her way, like a spider weaving a web.

The difference in technique, if that was what it was, made little difference; the horsemaster blinked rapidly, coming out of his trance, and looked at Miyabi like he was seeing a ghost.  “We were attacked.”

Miyabi smiled tightly.  “I can see that,” she said, her voice as tight as her smile.  “By whom?”

“Who would attack just the horses?” someone asked.  

“Perhaps they’re trying to eliminate our transportation?” someone asked.

“Has anyone checked the garage?” Miyabi asked.  When no one answered, she waved her hand to the fellow who had suggested the elimination of transportation.  “Go.”

“No,” said the horsemaster.  “The vehicles are fine.”  Tears began down his face.  “The horses were slaughtered.”

“I can see that!” Miyabi’s voice, while not loud, was harsh.  “By whom?”

“A demon came out of the woods…” The horsemaster let out a sob.

Miyabi stared at him, her hand dropping from her mouth, and her lips slack in disbelief.  “What?” she asked.

“It came out of the woods.  A giant oni, like out of a fairytale.  It lifted the roof off of the stable, then went inside.  It shrank, and began to tear the horses apart.  It started with the new ones you’d gotten your grandchildren.  It stuffed parts of them in its mouth as it did it.”  The man was fully crying now, his breath coming in great heaves.  “It had great fangs and great claws, and its blue skin was covered in red blood.”

“That’s not possible,’ Miyabi shook her head.

“When it was finished, it just walked out the door.”

“That’s not possible,” she said again.  “Why would one of our oni want to--?”  She stopped in mid-sentence and turned, ever so slowly, to face the people behind her.  Her eyes fell on Nikka.

“Why would our oni want to do what, mother?” Nikka asked.

Horror slowly began to appear on Miyabi’s face, starting with her eyes, and spreading to her brows, then to her mouth.

“Lady!” One of the servants ran up to the group, slowing and gagging as he approached.  “Lady!  What happened here?”  He shook his head, his eyes glued to the stable.  He ripped them away, to look at Miyabi. “Lady, there is a horse dealer at the gate from Hokkaido.  He says he has your shipment of fourteen horses.”

“I didn’t order any horses,” Miyabi said, her eyes still on Nikka.

“Your steward told him that he didn’t think you did,” the man continued.  “But they insisted.  He said they’re already paid for.”

“Let them in,” Nikka stepped forward, her gate every much as regal as that of the Lady Asakami herself.  “We obviously need to replenish our supply.”  She smiled, the same sweet smile that Saki had seen in so many business deals she had accompanied him to.  “And what better way than with a stock of the best horses in Japan?”

The man looked from Miyabi to Nikka.  “Let them in,” Miyabi said meekly.  She then turned to the crying Horsemaster.  “Dry it up,” her voice was harsh.  “Get this cleaned up.  We have to make room for 14 horses, and none of them need step foot near here with the place like this.”

“We’ll run them all,” the sensei came up to her and bowed, his ninja behind him.

Miyabi nodded to him, then her eyes turned once again to Nikka.  “What do you plan on telling your children happened to their horses, Bironika?” she asked.

Nikka shrugged.  “The truth.”  Then, in a flourish that Saki had trouble believing he was seeing, Nikka bowed low to Miyabi.  “Pardon me, please, mother,” she said politely, “but I must get ready to ride with your grandchildren today.”  Then she turned, and walked back toward the house.

 

***

Veronika Heathcock had lain in her low bed the night before, contemplating the dark.   She had forgotten how black it was out here, in the middle of nowhere, where the lights of a city, or even the ambient light of the few electrical outlets, all connected to generators, did not penetrate.  She wondered how many other things were hidden in this place, in the dark.  She knew many of them, and many of those were things she was sure even her mother did not know.

Her mother.  She turned on her  shikibuton, she inhaled the scent of her childhood home.  She remembered very little from before the Estate, she had no real desire to remember anything, so it didn’t matter.  She only had vague memories of signing papers, being told to use the name Asakami Bironika.  She’d been confused for a long time, as to when to use what name, until she finally figured out that Asakami Bironika was simply a front, the person whowas presented as the adopted daughter of The Lady Asakami.  She was still at a loss as to how Miyabi had managed to arrange for a Japanese passport for her.  It was more than obvious she was not Japanese.  And unless she was pretending to be, she was Nikka Heathcock. 

Now, who was that?

She sat up in bed, resisting the urge to roam the dark halls and find where Aya was staying with Greta and Ashton, to crawl under the covers with them, have her body sweat where they touched her, their little heads wet so their hair stuck to their heads.   She sighed and flopped back down.

She considered walking the paths around the estate, they ended at the stables, but would take her by the dojo; perhaps Saki was still awake.  Another deep breath of the faint cherry blossom water that her bed had been sprayed with before she retired and the thought of the ninja master brought a memory back to her that she hadn’t thought of in years.

The last time that Saki and she had been at the Asakami Estate at the same time, if he’d ever come back after he left, was the night before  _ she _ was sent away.  She, as well as all of Miyabi’s other remaining students, were being sent away from the Estate en masse, and as such, a going away party had been planned.  Nikka recalled little of it, save she drank a rice beer for the first time.  Several of the servants had laughed at the 15 year old girl trying to drink it, she had to gag the awful brew down.  There was the exchanging of small gifts with everyone.  She’d gone out of her way to find things that everyone would like.  She remembered she bought Raiku a small wooden box, with the hummingbird of House Asakami carved in the lid, its beak inlaid with copper, as well as the traditional gift of stationery with which to write letters.  

Raiku, in turn, had given Nikka a finely made porcelain monkey, “To keep the yokai away!” she teased.  The stationary that lay underneath it was pretty, of course, with trumpet flowers adorning the border.

Saki had given her a pair of kanzashi, and while the hair sticks were a go-to for men to buy women, the sensei had obviously put some thought into them.  The hair sticks were carved of a dark rosewood, with a twisting pattern in them, and topped with small jade caps.  The stationary he’d given with it was a heavy quality paper, with little dragons in the corners and a stick of sealing wax.  She wondered briefly where he’d gotten the money to buy such nice things.  She didn’t think, with his fetish for motorcycles, that he made enough in his wages as sensei that it left much over for anything else. 

They’d all stayed up late, Nikka the youngest by far, the great room filled with servants, students, and other household members, each tearfully saying goodbye to those who were leaving.  She’d gone back to her room, this room, afterward, too excited to be tired, and too tired to do very much other than pace her bedroom.

The knock on the floor outside of her sliding door startled her.  In only her t-shirt and panties, she had opened it just a crack, assuming it was a servant who had brought something to her room she might have forgotten.

It was Oroku Saki.

“What,” he growled, lifting the gift she’d given him up to her face, “is this?”

She threw open her door, looked both directions down the hallway, and grabbed him by his undershirt, dragging him into the room.  “What are you doing here?” she hissed.  “If Miyabi catches you she’ll kill you.”  She slid the door shut.  “She’ll kill me!”

He ignored her, stepping toward her so she had to take a step back into her room.  “What is this?” he demanded, though his voice was now a whisper.  She could smell the rice beer from the party still on his breath.

“It’s a book,” she stated the obvious.  The slim volume, the second in a pair of poetry by Kobo-Daishi, was an antique she’d hunted for, intending to give it to him as a present for another occasion, but then all of them leaving superseded any holidays.  “It’s the second one to that green book you were reading all the time when you arrived.”  She turned it in his hand so he could see the spine.  “See?”

His face crumbled before her eyes.  His black eyebrows raised to wrinkle his brow, coming together to an inverted ‘v’.  His upper lip curled, his nostrils flared, and his eyes squinted in the distinctive look of hurt.

Her heart constricted, he looked so much like a lost puppy. “Oh Saki!”  She tugged at the book in his hand, but he didn’t let it go.  “I didn’t know you wouldn’t like it.  I’ll get you something you else.”  She tugged at it again.  When he didn’t let go, she jerked at it hard, only to have him jerk back, so that she was sent forward into his chest.

Then, his arms were around her, drawing her against him.  His lips were on hers, the book he was holding pressed against the back of her head.  She splayed her arms and knew that her round, blue eyes must have been bulging out of her head.  Fear detonated inside of her, from her jaw to her knees.  His body was hard, like a tree trunk, the arms about her like steel chains.  And he was kissing her.

His eyes were closed and he did not release her.  The arm he’d drawn about her waist pulled her closer, his mouth opened to suck at her bottom lip.

He was kissing her!

He could have any woman on the Estate.  He could have any woman in the village, too, probably.  He was beautiful, like a work of art, handsome, graceful, powerfully built.  He could have whomever he wished.

And he was kissing  _ her! _

She closed her eyes, leaning into his mouth, her own lips moving against his gently, her arms snaking around his neck.  He dropped the book, forcing her to back up until her legs hit her bed.  Was she supposed to stay standing or lie down?  He answered the question for her by sinking, so she had nowhere else to go but to fall back on the frame or on the floor.

He collapsed beside her, so that one of his legs draped over hers, heavy like a beam trapping her down.  One hand cupped her neck, his thumb stroking her jaw.  Her heart swelled in her chest at the gesture, warmth spreading through her shoulders to meet the heat in her throat from the beer that his tongue tasted of.  She laid her hands on his shoulder blades, feeling the muscles move as his arms tensed and released against her body.  His free hand went to her hip, large enough that with his palm on her hipbone, his fingers spanned easily behind her, his thumb rested on her womb.  The growing pressure against her other hip was unmistakable, a slow throb, almost poking into her, growing harder with each heartbeat. 

She gasped...had she been holding her breath?  He seemed to freeze for a moment, his hands still, the weight of his leg on hers and the push on her hip becoming uncomfortable.  He raised himself off of her, and the cold air hit her in the places he’d been only a moment before.  His almost black eyes were open, regarding her, his leg swung away, his inhalation quick in a way she’d never seen it before.

Then in a blur, his shirt was off.  For a split second she saw his bare chest, and while she’d seen it before, she’d never seen it this close, or from this angle.  Before she knew it, her shirt was off too, and her panties, then his bottoms, so fast that she barely got a look at him in the dim light before he was on top of her completely, his lips were on hers again, his settling between her legs.  

The softness of his mouth moving against hers made her lips tingle, as if she were experiencing pins and needles.  Through the tingling, her tongue seemed super-sensitive, she could feel every move his made, from scraping her cheeks to twirling around hers in an ever-quickening dance.   

She felt his hand snake down her body, brushing the hair at her groin, to slide between wet, hot folds of flesh at the juncture of her thighs.  She thought he’d stop once he touched the soft skin there, but his finger slid inside of her.  She dropped her hips, the feeling disconcerting, which caused her chest to raise and press to his.  Then his hand was at her shoulder, and relief washed through her for a moment, before the uncomfortable stretch at her entrance was back, tighter and harder than before.

She felt her arms begin to shake, and wasn’t sure why.  She wasn’t afraid.  He chose her, to do this thing with her, of all the women he could have chosen who were around him.  He had tried to save her from demons, he had treated her with respect, honoring her opinion, listening to her, taking her knowledge into account.  But her arms shook like she was afraid, and her heart began to beat in her chest like fear was chasing her.

The contrast of sensation, the warmth, desired touch of his skin on hers, with the pressure growing in her abdomen made her open her legs more.  It didn’t relieve the uncomfortable stretch she felt.  Suddenly, she felt a pinch inside of her womb, so that she winced against his lips, and straightened her legs.  His hips were touching hers, he was still for a moment, then he began to move.

Pulling out slightly, then back in, she thought in disappointment,  _ I don’t see what all the fuss is about. _  She liked the kissing, the feel of his body on hers, his hand at her throat stroking her jaw, her ear.  But the feeling of fullness inside of her was uncomfortable, not something she would have thought one would seek out.

He pushed in, pulled out, pushed in, pulled out and she gasped loudly.   _ That was what all the fuss is about! _

The tremors that had started with her lips, causing her arms to shake, reached in between her legs, all at once she didn’t know what to do with herself.  She had to move.  She had to, or the ache in her legs, her hips, was going to drive her crazy.  She wiggled in any way she could, but it didn’t relieve the pressure that she now wanted inside of her, because it promised something else, but she didn’t know what.

His body moved in an easy rhythm, she was able to match it.  Speeding up, the shaking in her body became stronger, and at times a small sound would escape her of its own volition.

“Shennnuuuugggg…..” His voice faded into a moan as his lips left her mouth and he buried his face in her shoulder.  Normally, she would have squealed with the ticklishness there, but it had disappeared, almost all of her attention at the hot, wet juncture of her thighs.  She nodded.   _ Yes, hush. _  She had to be quiet;, if anyone heard, if Miyabi found out, she was quite sure she’d be killed in some awful, ritualistic fashion, right after watching Saki die from some horrible command of her Shishou.

The speed of his thrusts kept increasing, she raised her own to match him, until with a deep moan, right at her ear, he stopped.  Breathing heavily, he laid on her for a few breaths, before rolling off, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat.

The feeling of needing to move, that something else needed to happen hadn’t left her.  She wanted to run, felt that something was left unfinished.   _ No wonder people are off doing this all the time, when it leaves you feeling so disatisfied! _

He opened his eyes and looked at her, his face expressionless.  She still had her arms about his neck.  As they lay on their sides, he stroked her shoulder and whispered, “I can’t stay here.”

Nikka’s heart leapt to her mouth.  She bit down, the hurt at his words were sour in her mouth.  She’d read enough to know that a man was supposed to stay with a woman after  _ that. _  But the thought quickly came,  _ No, Miyabi will kill him.  Then she’ll kill me. _  She nodded, she understood.   He had given  _ her  _ a beautiful gift, he’d shown  _ her _ , that of everyone here,  _ she  _ was the one worthy of his attention; there was no reason ruin it with recklessness.

He had been so sweet afterward, he’d wiped in between her legs, and she’d been surprised at the amount of  _ stuff _ that was produced, with his white undershirt.  She’d seen the blood on the fabric, knowing it was probably ruined now.  He’d put her t-shirt and panties back on her, then gotten himself dressed.   At her sliding door, he’d kissed her quickly, his brows drawn together when he pulled away.

“Goodbye, Saki,” she whispered.  

“Goodbye, Nikka,” he’d answered, then was gone.

It had taken her ages to fall asleep, she had to lay to one side because of the wet spot that was left on the bed.  Like this night, close to twenty years later, it had left her filled with briskness, her legs aching to run, her arms aching to hold onto something tight.

She sat up in bed, the house silent, like it had been that night after the party.  A sudden anger filled her breast, the feeling of having been denied something that night with Saki long ago, was similar to the feeling of being denied her daughter’s delight at her birthday.   _ She _ was her mother, and she was the one who deserved to have that.  Not Miyabi. Taking a flashlight, she flicked it on and decided to walk about the path at the edge of the forest, that lead around the estate, and eventually to the stable.


	27. Chapter 27

The mountain air caressed Saki’s skin, though he could only feel it on part of his face and neck.  The scars on his head ran deep, leaving nothing but a contrasting warmth and stillness to the cool that blew by him as he wended through the mountain passes on the old motorcycle.  After leaving the stable in the morning, Saki’s entire body shook, the same as if he’d been in a hard fight and almost lost.  He knew that what happened last night at the stable was a sign, an answer to prayer, but he didn’t know what or how to interpret it.  His supplication the night before to Tamayori, his ancestress, had not gone unheard.  He headed toward the garage, in search of a bike that still ran, to find that, while old, they were in fine condition.   He’d purloined one, kicked it to start, and headed out.  No one tried to stop him, either at the door of the garage or at the gate.

“People do odd things when they’ve lost their spouse,” he heard Miyabi whisper to her steward before he left.  “I, of all people, know that.”

Was it all forgiven then?  The annihilation of her horses, replaced with ones that were obviously worth ten times those that were taken from her, explained away with a sentence.   Is that what she had thought when he’d arrived at the Estate all those years ago?

He’d been on a motorbike then, too, much like this one.

 He’d bought it with his own money that he’d earned and saved while in the military.  It had cost him almost all the yen he’d had. 

Yoshi had teased him about buying it.  “What will you pay for dates with, now?” he asked.  “Father isn’t going to give you enough to impress the ladies as much as that bike says you will.”

Saki had laughed.  “I only intend to impress one lady,” he’d answered.

But that is not how his plan worked out.  In hurt and humiliation, he’d come here, feeling betrayed by everyone and utterly alone.  He’d had only the clothes on back, his military duffle sack of items, the motorcycle, and the slim volume of poetry that Tang Shen had given him upon his return to the monastery after his enlistment.

“I’ve been waiting many years for you, Ororku Saki,” Asakami Miyabi had said when he was escorted into her parlor.

He’d entered a domestic scene that could have come out of a medieval painting, just as the Estate itself could have.  At her feet were several women of differing ages, the youngest a little white girl with light brown hair and big, blue eyes.  Each of them were engaged in some sort of needlepoint work, cloth was draped on their legs, each held a hoop to hold the fabric taut.  When the old woman had stood, so did each of her students, all putting down their needlework with such grace and timing that they looked choreographed.

Her words had made him feel even more alone and betrayed.  She’d known he was coming?  She’d been waiting for him?  She knew of his existence?

Indeed, she did.  “A woman isn’t worth all this, Saki,” she said to him on his very first day there.  “Not when I know what is in store for you.”  She’d told him the history of his clan, the history that his father, Hamato Yuuta, had never told him.  She told him of his ancestors, of the glory that stood behind him, so that he could realize the glory that stood in front of him.

“I feared for the end of my Art before I found Nikka,” she’d told him once.  “And I feared for the end of my family before I found you.”

She’d not found him.  He’d found her.

He turned the corner leaning the motorcycle low so that his knee almost touched the hard packed dirt road.  He could feel the pressure of the energy of the earth meet the energy of his calf as they almost kissed, before righting the bike as the road straightened.

But it had been Nikka who had told him the real stories of Koga Takuza, the stories that mattered. 

The Asakami Estate held an impressive library of ancient scrolls and books, and the littlest of Miyabi’s students liked to spend time there, he’d soon found out.  “She likes fairy tales,” one of the women who was trying to catch his attention at the time told him.  None of the women at the Estate caught his attention.  None of them were Shen.  But then Bironika had laughed like Shen, moved like Shen, smiled like Shen, even though she didn’t look one iota like her.  She also laboriously translated old scrolls from medieval Japanese into modern, and along with it, stories of his past, that he would never have known otherwise. 

He drove the roads on the mountain all day.  The quaking in his body had taken hours to stop.  He would notice his breath was hasty, and force himself to calm it.  It had been years since he’d felt this taken aback.

“We are getting married,” Yoshi said, his smile broad, his arm tight around Shen.

Saki’s body shook then, too, as his mother and father had congratulated them.  “Aren’t you happy for your brother?” his father asked him.

He couldn’t answer, only stare like a deaf-mute.

His body trembled, too, when his mother had turned to Yuuta in the dark of that night, a week before Yoshi and Shen were to be wed, and said, “We need to tell him the truth.”

“The truth?” Saki had asked.  “What truth?  What are you keeping from me?”  Was his brother marrying the woman he loved not enough?

Then the ugly lies had been stripped away.  He knew he’d been adopted.  He’d known that all of his life.  To learn of the way in which the adoption took place, had left him nauseated.  His father’s face had been filled with remorse.  His mother had cried.

“I cannot stay here,” he said, stumbling to his room and stuffing his duffle bag with his things.

“You can’t leave,” his mother’s face was twisted in agony, the collar of her shirt soaked from her tears.  “This is your home, Saki.  We are your family.  We love you.”

None of them knew what love was.  They would not have told the awful lies they had if they loved him.  He knew what love was, and it was stolen from him, again and again and again.   He had sworn, during the journey from the monastery to the Estate, never to lie.  He was supposed to be held to a high honor, the old man had taught him that much.  And he would keep it.  He would be truthful if it killed him.

But it hadn’t killed him.  It had served him well.  It brought him here, to this desolate place.  It had shown him his destiny and given the people who were to be in it.

He cruised through several forests, which broke back out into mountain roads, the view breathtaking.  He ignored his rumbling stomach.  It would punch at him that he was hungry, and he’d let the feeling slide off of his abdominal muscles, like the pain of a practice strike.  

His body had quaked when he’d left this place and returned to the monastery to win back the woman he loved and who he knew loved him.  His last night here, there had been a party, a sad celebration at Miyabi sending her students away.  The attack on the Estate by a rival clan had left the old woman truly shaken.  Each of her remaining students was to be carted off to a job, even a not-fully-grown Bironika.   They’d exchanged gifts, and he’d had a hard time thinking of what to give anyone.  He’d finally settled on the easy way out for each of them, the women got a hair accessory and stationary.  He’d tried to match the hair jewelry with the woman he was giving it to, and was never sure if he actually had or not.  Not that he really cared.  He would have rathered not spent his money on any of them.  He hadn’t minded spending it on Nikka, so much.  She had, after all, told him a treasure trove of stories, she’d given him a firm grounding where he’d had none when he came.

As the night went on Nikka had gagged down a beer, her faces delighting the servants.  It was then that he realized he was going to miss her.   She was annoyingly exuberant, fierce, with a know-it-all attitude, but if she didn’t know something, she was willing to learn.  She was a hard worker, determined when she put her mind to it.  She was smart, her insight into human behavior, even those humans long dead, was impressive.   They made a good team, he mused.  He worked better with her than he did with most people.  Even back then, that was rare.

They’d exchanged their gifts, he’d simply watched as those around them opened theirs.  Most of them were predictable.  Even Raiku had given Nikka a monkey, “To keep the yokai away!”  He’d simply carried his bags back to his room, to open them there.

When he’d gotten to Nikka’s gift, his first thought was, _How did she get Shen’s book of poetry from my room?_   But when he looked at the desk, the first volume was still there.  When he looked at the cover, he saw this was the second of the set.  He stared at it, the scene of his leaving home swimming before his eyes, before his chest burst into flaming anger.  With the book in his fist, he’d stalked to her room, not caring who saw him, or what time of night it was.

When she opened the door, she was only in her shirt and panties.  He fully expected her to slam her door in his face, and a type of satisfied pride had snaked its way into his skull when she’d grabbed him and dragged him into the room.  “Miyabi is going to kill you!” she hissed.  “Then she’s going to kill me!”

“Where did you get this?” he demanded, raising the volume to her face.

She’d stared it, and as she did, he saw Shen, the night of her marriage announcement.  She’d come to find him alone among the cherry trees.  “Oh Saki!” Shen said.  “Don’t be sad!”

How could he not be sad?  “You are marrying Yoshi,” he muttered to her.  “And I love you.”

Nikka had jerked the book then, trying to take it from him.   He knew he’d lost his chance with Shen, that he’d been too possessive.  But he could change.  He was possessive because he loved her, because he wanted her to be safe.  He wanted to protect her from all the horrors that were out there, why could Shen not have understood that?  All he wanted was her, for her to understand, for her to choose him.

The look on Nikka’s face that night had been almost identical to that of Shen’s when she’d pleaded with him not to be sad.  That night, he’d reached for Shen, taken her in his arms, pressed his lips to hers.

She’d slapped him across the face and walked off.

He waited for the slap that was supposed to come at this part of the memory, because he could feel his lips against her.  With his eyes closed, his arm wrapped tight about her body, he could feel the warmth of her breasts touching his chest, but the slap never came.  Instead, unlike his memory, arms enfolded his neck, and the lips pressing his moved gently.

He knew it wasn’t Shen, because she’d slapped him, but didn’t want to give into the real memory, this one was much more pleasant.  His body responded to the lips on his, tightening in his groin, as he pushed her backward toward the bed.  He laid her down on it as gently as he could.  His body didn’t want to be gentle, he burned, similar to the burning of his anger, only now it was passion at changing the outcome of his declaration of those three words long ago.  He relished in the caressing of her hands on his back, the pressure of her hip against his crotch, the stroking of their tongues together.

He opened his eyes and looked at the girl on the bed below him.  His mind told him this was not Shen, he was engaging in a delusion and should stop.  Yes, he should stop.  But even with her round, blue eyes, and not Shen’s lovely brown, his body recognized another, wanting him, ready to receive him.  Was he allowed nothing, that he couldn’t even have this, little delusion?

Then the decision was made, and he stripped them both naked before his mind could protest.  Her body moved against his desirously, swaying beneath him, her tongue reaching for his through his kisses.   He wanted to move faster as he crawled on top of her, already hard.  Sticky pre-cum leaked out of him onto her stomach where his length lay against her, and he bucked involuntarily as she raised her hips.

He needed to go slow.  He wasn’t sure why, but he did.  He put his hand between her legs, stroking the pale hair there, and was surprised at how soft he found it, how hot he found the skin there.  With practiced ease, he slipped his middle finger inside of her, and immediately it was engulfed with a searing heat.   His manhood jumped, sending a jolt of electricity from his pubic bone to the base of his skull.  Before the thought could manifest itself in his head, he was inside of her.  Her body stiffened under him.

 _She’s not supposed to do that,_ he considered, but his hips didn’t seem to care.  Neither did hers, apparently, because she was raising herself to meet him.   His body didn’t listen to what his mind said, but what his mind was saying was foggy at best.  He thrust, and she received him, and as his body moved faster, his cock grew tighter as it swelled and pressed against her walls, which were too hot, too tight, moving too fast.  She moaned beneath him, each sound sending a zing up his spine.

“Shen,” he wanted to moan, only he knew he shouldn’t.  It wasn’t Shen that was undulating below him, it was Nikka, as a placeholder, knowledgeable, passionate, kind.

His body broke out in a sweat as he approached his climax.  He knew he should try to hold out longer, but his body didn’t want to, it wanted its release, and he felt like giving in to it.  His thrusts became deeper as he sought to crest the wave he was riding, then he was there, suppressing another moan, emptying himself into the vessel underneath him.

He’d rested a moment, breathing in the scent of someone familiar, of the almost-woman he’d spent so much time with.  Rolling off of her, he opened his eyes, her face came into focus, flushed and pink from exertion.  Her arms were still about his neck.  _She wants me to stay_ , he observed, _she’s expecting me to stay with her.  That’s normal, all girls expect you to stay with them after you’ve slept with them._

Dread began to fill into him, pouring in at the divot in his neck where he swallowed.  As he said the words, the fear reached his stomach.  “I can’t stay here.”

She looked like she’d been punched in the gut.  Her brows drew together, her lips twisted.  She took a quick breath, but at the exhale, her face was calm again, and she nodded.

He had to get out of that room.  He had leave.  He resisted simply walking way by taking his shirt and cleaning her up.  He’d dressed her, as tenderly as he could.  When he was done, he paused a moment, then bent down and kissed her.  He couldn’t stay, at least he could do that.

Every step he took toward his room filled him more and more with dismay.  As the rush of the alcohol and the sex evaporated from his brain, his body began to tremble.   Once he was back in his room, he’d sank down to the floor, and put his head in his hands.    He glanced at the shirt he’d dropped to the floor beside him, and saw the bloody streak on it.  He swore, horror filling his gut, rising to his chest, hitting his jaw. 

_Oh gods, what have I done?_

He’d left the next morning, with only a short explanation to Miyabi that he was ready to go back to the monastery.  She hadn’t stopped him.  

He’d returned home to his mother’s hug, crying against his cheek.  

His father had teared up too, taking him in his arms, chanting, “My son, you came home, you came home.” 

Yoshi clasped him tightly.  “You came to your senses, Saki,” he’d breathed.  “I’m so glad.”

“Welcome home, Saki,” Shen smiled sweetly.  She was as beautiful then as she’d been when he’d left.

He had tried not think of the incident, but for his first month home, it kept creeping into his consciousness as he sat meditating in the family dojo.

 _She is a girl,_ his inner voice accused.

But her lips had kissed like a woman.  Her body had moved like a woman.  She talked like a woman, smelled like one.  She’d made love to him like a woman.

_You didn’t make love to her._

He did.  He loved Shen, and he was thinking of her when he’d slept with Nikka.

_That’s not making love to her._

It was making love to someone, that was what counted.

_What if she’s pregnant?_

He’d stopped breathing when that thought arrived.

What if she was pregnant?  Terror filled him, so he bit the inside of his cheek, opening his eyes.  Everyone around him had their eyes closed, their own attention on their own breath, their own thoughts.  He hadn’t used any protection.  There was no way she was on birth control, she was a kid.  No, she wasn’t a kid, she was virgin, there was a difference.  A big difference.  Kids didn’t know what she knew.  She knew—she knew more than anyone he’d met besides the elders at the monastery and the Asakami Estate.  That made her an adult.  But adult or not, she’d obviously not slept with someone before.

_You slept with a virgin, using no protection, and just left, you irresponsible prick._

He put his hands to his head, pulling his hair.  Standing up, his father asked, “Are you alright, my son?”

“No,” he clipped, before walking out of the dojo.

When a letter arrived from her, he wanted to crumple it up, burn it, and pretend she never existed.

“Oh,” Yoshi asked.  “Who is Veronika Heathcock?”

“I girl I met when I was away,” he answered.

“A pretty girl?” Yoshi asked.

“Yes,” he answered thoughtlessly.  “But a girl, Yoshi,” he said slowly.  “She’s fifteen or sixteen.”

“Oh.”  Yoshi chuckled.  “You’re starting them young.”

Saki glared at his brother.  Yoshi put his hands up in the air, laughing.  “I’m joking,” he replied.  “What is a sixteen year old girl writing you for?”

“I don’t know,” he put the letter in his pocket.  “I haven’t read it yet.  There was a women’s program where I stayed.”

“Will you be getting lots of letters from these girls, then?” Yoshi teased.

“The rest were women,” Saki said a little too quickly.

Yoshi clasped him on his shoulder good-naturedly.  “Then I am sure the answer is yes.”

He walked around with that letter in his pocket the entire day.  Each time he tried to open it, he couldn’t make himself do it.  What if it said she was having a baby?  What would he do then?  He’d have to marry her, and be cursed to live in the mountains of Sado for the rest of his life!  Or pay child support for an illegitimate child.  Could you keep illegitimate children secret?  What would Miyabi say?  What would his parents say?

What if it was worse, and it was a love letter?

He’d sat on the edge of his bed close to midnight that night and finally opened the seal.  She had written it on the stationary he’d given her as a leaving gift.  Relief flooded through him to find it was neither a pronouncement of his coming progeny nor a declaration of love for him, but a plain, everyday letter.  She told him of the time she was having in the IT department of a company, and how the owner was a creepy old man who liked to stroke her hair a little too much.  He felt a surge of possessiveness.  What was some creepy old man doing stroking Nikka’s hair?  He let the thought, and the feeling that accompanied it, pass him by, so he was left with a calm he hadn’t felt in weeks.

He parked the motorcycle in the garage, the ride through the mountains not having calmed him as he wished.  He didn’t feel like going back to the house yet, so he began to walk around the edge of the wood.  The sun was sinking, setting the tops of the trees afire, as he recognized the pathway that lead to The Morning Garden, where he and Nikka had tended to the forest yokai.

He walked down it, his feet quickening as he came closer to the ruins of the original house, where Tamayori had lived and died.  When he reached it, the air was still and cool, the place dark, much darker than he remembered it.  But then, he’d never been in it at dusk, only at dawn.  By now, they’d been called away to dinner.

He sank in front of the ruins, his knees dipping into the soft earth.  The day in the mountains had not brought him not closer to an understanding, only that he knew the answer to his prayer the night before was there, if he could interpret it.

Then he felt Nikka’s presence coming down the path, bright, like a beacon, pressing outward.

“You will find no oni by staring at an old house,” she said when she emerged in the garden.

He turned to look at her.  She looked as she always did, a teasing smile on her face.   She came next to him, kneeling as he did, her gaze looking over the foundation ruins.  “Do you feel better?” she asked.

“I never felt badly in the first place,” he replied.  “You did.”

“You’ve been gone all day,” she said.  “That indicates you felt badly.”

He grunted noncommittally.

“When I was young,” she said, her voice gentle, “and I first came to this Estate, I was going to build a house on this foundation and live in it.”

Frustration gnawed at him.   “And now?”

“This isn’t my home,” she answered.  “I will never live here.”

The answer struck him, as if Tamayori had come down and kissed his brow.

“You never told me you could control demons,” he accused.

“I can do a lot of things,” she said, her voice even.

“What kind of things?” he drawled.

She turned to him, her eyes intense.  “There are more than fairy tales in the library in that old house.”  She indicated the main house with a wave of her hand, her voice hard.

“Why did you never tell me you could control oni?” he asked, trying to hold the excitement from his voice.

Her blue eyes shone.  “Because, Saki, you never asked.”


	28. Chapter 28

Casey Jones resisted going to Alice’s hideout, again.  He’d been once since she’d gone to visit her family, out west somewhere, she wouldn’t say where.  The place was exactly the same as it always was, dusty, quiet, with his buttmark on the beanbag seat.  So instead, he sat on top of a low building, five stories up, watching the streets below for any Purple Dragon scum that might deign show their faces.

She’d texted him twice since was gone.  He wanted to call her so bad, to hear her voice, husky with that to die for Brooklyn accent.  But he hadn’t gotten the guts to do it yet.  She hadn’t called him, and didn’t seem right for him to call her.  _Don’t want her thinkin’ I’m some bothersome little kid._

 **Keeping busy?** She’d asked.

**Casey Jones: Yeah.  Scum never rests.**

**Allie D: Neither do you, it seems!  You going to school?**

**Casey Jones: School is for wusses.**

**Allie D: Yeah, wusses who want to play on the hockey team.**

**Casey Jones: Good point.  What r u up 2?**

**Allie D: Enduring my mom.** She’d sent him a rolling eyed emoji.  **She’s so lame.**

 _At least you’ve got a mom,_ he wanted to type.  But he didn’t, instead he sent, **Yeah, my dad is 2.**

**Allie D: Parents. Ugh.**

The next set of texts, she asked her classic question.  **How r u and Raph?**

He wasn’t sure how to answer.  He wanted to kick himself for even telling her about Raph.  But she listened to him, understood him, like they were cut from the same cloth, as his dad would say.  It was eerie, but it was great at the same time.

 **Casey Jones: We’re good.** He considered typing, Thanks for being there for me, but thought that sounded way to girly.  Instead, he just texted **Thanks.**

He wanted to call her.  For some reason, hearing her voice was like drinking tiny shots of whisky, hot and spicy right to his chest. He had little fantasies of her saying words in Italian, and he promised himself that when she got back, he was going to ask her to say something.

_God, I bet that would sound so sexy._

“Who’s Alice?”

Casey threw his arms into the air, twirling around to see Raph standing behind him, his hands on what would have been his hips, if he didn’t have a shell.  “Dude,” he said.  “You gotta stop sneaking up on me. I coulda squished you like a bug.”

“Who’s Alice?” Raph asked again.

Casey vaguely remembered being on the phone with the red-masked turtle, but couldn’t recall what, exactly, he had been saying.  “She’s a woman.”

“You called me, drunk, talking about Alice.”  He shook his head, “And a bunch of other really weird stuff that we’re never going to repeat.”

“What are you talking about?” Casey asked.

“Exactly,” Raph came to stand beside him, looking out on the street below.

“No,” Casey went on.  “I mean, what are you talking about, weird stuff?”

Raph turned his green eyes on the teenage vigilante.  “You don’t remember calling me and telling me about Alice?”

He straightened his shoulders.  “Of course I do,” he replied.  It wasn’t a total lie.  He remembered most of it.  “We didn’t talk about anything weird.”  Did they?

Raph raised an eyebrow.  “Proclaiming your undying love for me isn’t weird?”

Casey was glad he was wearing his face paint, because his cheeks and ears started to burn.  He knew underneath the colors he was bright red.  “I didn’t proclaim my undying love for you,” Casey snapped.  “I was telling you what Allie said.”

Raph was trying to hold in a smile, and Casey could see he wasn’t doing a very good job of it.  He clasped his green hand on Casey’s shoulders.  “I love you, man,” he mimicked.

“Shut up!”  Casey jerked his arm out of his grasp.   “You just said we weren’t going to repeat any of it.  This is why I don’t tell you stuff.”

“What stuff are you not telling me?  Like who the shell is Alice?”

Casey leaned against the water tower of the building.  “She’s this woman I saved from Purple Dragons,” he said.  “She was tagging on their turf.”

“And?” Raph scowled.

“And, I might have gone out with her a few times since then,” Casey admitted, putting a hand behind his head.

“Like, on a date?”  Raph sounded incredulous.

 _I wish!_ Casey was about to answer.  But he managed to stop himself.  “No, she’s like, twenty two.  We just hang out and write music.”  He beamed his toothless grin, “I helped her write this killer song.”

“Really?” Raph asked.  “I wanna hear it.”

“Ok!” Casey dug his phone from his pocket, going to his gallery to replay the song, but then remembered what the song was about.  “Nah, you don’t want to hear it.  It’s not that good.”

“You just said it was killer,” Raph’s scowl deepened.

“It’s killer for a first song,” Casey said.

“You’re full of it.”  Raph grabbed for Casey’s phone, so quick that before the teen knew it, the phone was in the turtle’s hand and the song, acoustic and rough, was playing.  The red banded turtle’s bright green eyes squinted.  “What kind of song is this?!”

“A song about friendship,” Casey said, swiping his phone back.  “She was helping me, man.”

“Helping you do what?” Raph asked.  “Get in touch with your feelings?”

Frustration would begin to build in Casey’s chest, but then it would dissipate as soon as it came, as if it couldn’t catch hold inside of him.  “I was mad,” he whined.  “She needed help writing some songs, and that’s what came out.”

“I don’t say stuff like that about you to Slash when I’m mad at you!” Raph’s voice cracked.

“What do you say, then?” Casey demanded, the anger sparking in him again, and again having nothing to fan into flames.  “It doesn’t matter,” he said.  “What matters is she’s totally cool, Raph.   And she wants to meet you!”

“Yeah,” Raph rolled his eyes.   “What did you tell her about me, anyway?”

“That you’re my friend,” Casey huffed.  “She thinks I’m cool, so she thinks you’re cool.”

“Why do I find that hard to believe?”  Raph crossed his arms in front of his plastron.

“Fine, don’t meet her then,” Casey shrugged.  He didn’t want to fight with Raph, he _really_ didn’t want to.  Let him just blow it off, then they wouldn’t be arguing.

Raph groaned.  “It isn’t like I can meet her anyway.”

“That’s just it, Raph,” Casey leaned forward.  “I think she’d be totally cool with you!  I mean, she’s totally cool.  She brings beer, and she has a guitar, and when we tag, it’s like...” his voice trailed off as searched for a word.

“Epic?” Raph groused.

“No,” Casey shook his head.  “It’s not epic at all.  It’s like, when you’re in the zone, only you’re in it with someone else, and they totally get you and your art.”

Raph raised an eyebrow.  “You sound like you’re in love, dude.”  His voice did not portray that he was impressed.

“I’m not in love, you dork,” Casey turned to look at the street once again.  “She’s just really cool.”

“So where is she now?” Raph asked.

“Out of town, visiting her family.  She said she’d be back next week.”  Casey crouched, peering at the ground below.  “Look,” he pointed to a group of teenagers surrounding an older man walking on the sidewalk.  “That’s our cue.”

***

The drone of the small plane, along with the very long day, put both Ashton and Greta to sleep in very little time.  Saki was grateful, he didn’t want them screaming from their ears popping, or their gums aching with the change in pressure.  He remembered Karai as a tiny child doing so, and his attempts to stop it simply infuriated them both.

The day was one of the most arduous he had encountered in years—he’d spent fourteen hours at Tokyo Disneyland.  While he had not, initially, planned on joining Nikka and her children on Greta’s birthday outing, Nikka had brought up a very thoughtful point during one of their talks at the Estate.

“This person, who is after you,” she said, holding a delicate, antique tea cup to her lips during a tea service, “I have been thinking about him or her.”

“Or her?” Saki asked, taking a sip from his own jade cup.

“Are women not capable of going after someone?” she asked, her voice smug.  “You haven’t paid attention to your history, Saki.  They’re much more dangerous than their men.”

He’d grunted and she’d laughed.

“I think you should come to Disneyland with us,” she said.  “Give the tabloids something to write about.”

“Why do the tabloids need something to write about?” he asked.

“They don’t need something to write about,” she answered.  “But they need _you_ to write about.”

He’d raised an eyebrow.

“And they need something juicy to write about.  Something that will catch your enemy’s attention.”  Her bright blue eyes twinkled mischievously, as they did when she was a girl.

“And what, pray tell, would they be writing about?” he asked with a sigh.

“About how you were out at Disneyland, of course,” she said, putting the cup down.  “With your business partner on your arm, and her two children trailing behind you with their _Japanese_ nanny.”

“How will causing a buzz help us with this unidentified enemy?” he groused.

“It will help us identify him,” she huffed.

“How?” he growled, putting his cup down.

She pursed her lips together before answering.  “Because it will cause people to talk.  It might cause one of your business associates, above or underground, to let something slip.”  She picked up the teapot with practiced grace, refilling his cup with the aromatic liquid.  “Right now we have precious little to go on.”

“Why not do something in New York?” he asked.  “I can take you to dinner and a concert.”  That would be much better than going to Disneyland.

“Because we need to do something while we’re still in Japan, and this way we don’t have to change our plans,” she said. 

“You don’t have to change your plans,” he said.

“We know that he is ninja, and he teaches others ninjitsu,” she went on, ignoring his comment. 

“How do we know that?” he asked.

“He sent ninjas after _you_ ,” she said disgustedly.  “Not only does he teach ninjitsu, he obviously thinks he is a much better teacher than you are, to send his students after you.”

Saki growled, squinting.

“I can’t decide if he is Japanese or not,” she explained.  “It could very well be a foreigner, who doesn’t know the details of your expertise.  Or, he could be Japanese and be young, and not know the details of your expertise.  I am disinclined to think he is young, because he sent people after you, rather than coming after you himself.”

“So it is a him?” Saki asked.

She smiled.  “I am unsure of that, as well.”

He picked up the teacup, scowling deeply.

So he’d ended up at Disneyland when he’d planned on another day of checking in on his holdings in Tokyo.

He glanced over the plane’s aisle at Nikka, who held Ashton on her lap.  The boy’s head rested on her breast, his mouth slightly open like the small child he still was, his eyes moving under his eyelids in a dream.   “He is getting too old for you to hold him like a baby,” Saki told her.

She turned to him, drawing her brows together.  “’Getting’ too old,” she repeated.  “He isn’t too old yet.  Do not deny me this, of holding my son while he’s still a little boy.”

Saki did not reply, but turned from her, to look out of the window at the cloud covered sky.

He remembered when Karai was that age, filled with enthusiasm and eager to please.  She performed her katas, beautifully, like a dancer, her muscles filled with grace and power, even at such a young age.  Her mother had never moved so gorgeously, save the swing of her hips.  But his little Karai had been a spice to set men and women many years her elder on fire.   Each move she made was precise, yet flowed into the next, her natural ability for ninjitsu obvious.  She obeyed him with little question, and the times she did not make him proud were few and far between.

Her rebellions, when she had them, tended to be with her clothing, it was always her clothing or her hair.  He’d given up fighting it in her tweens, but when she was still only five or six, he had deemed her too young to make such choices for herself.  But she never complained about her practice uniform.  She never complained about her body hurting, unless she was truly injured.  She complained about having to wear skirts, like a little girl should, or about how she was not allowed to have a puppy or kitten.

“You are too occupied to care for a pet,” he had told her.

“Then I can be less occupied,” she’d replied, sticking her bottom lip out.

He bent down, so he was at her eye level.  She tightened, ready for a physical blow, perhaps.  While Oroku Saki did not spank his daughter, The Shredder did punish his students.  She was in her practice uniform, and so the line of who she was, was blurred.  “There are people,” he said, “who will kill you if they lay eyes on you, simply because of who you are.   Simply because of who loves you.  I will not have you defenseless.”

“I am not defenseless, Father,” she almost whined.  “I can defeat anyone who tries to hurt me!”

He almost felt sorry for her.  In her young mind, she believed what she said.  “You,” he pointed to one of his advanced students.  “Defeat her.”

The man bowed, a confused look on her face.  “Excuse me, Sensei?”  He glanced down at Karai.

“Defeat her,” he repeated. 

The two had bowed before each other, waiting for him to give the word to begin.  “Hajime.”

The match had gone on longer than he thought it would.  Each move that Karai made, the pride in heart grew, threatening to swell out of his chest and into his gut and throat.  But in the end, his little spice had been defeated, left with a bloodied nose and a fiery anger in her eyes.

And so no puppy or kitten had come.

 Occasionally, he would put her on his lap when there was a lack of space, but that was rare.  When she was on it, unlike Ashton, who took up his mother’s thighs and torso, she had been tiny on his legs.  She’d weighed next to nothing, his hands enveloping in her little body easily as he had held her to keep her still and safe.

He felt Nikka slide Ashton off of her own lap, his eyes still on the clouds out of the window.  She slid in the seat next to him, her voice soft.  “We will make her better, Saki.”

It irked him that she knew what he was thinking, that he could not be alone with his thoughts after the long day.  “Hnnn,” he replied.

“Saki.”  She reached up and placed her fingers at his chin, swiveling his head so that he was looking at her.  As always, she looked him in his eyes, as if he had sight in both.  “We will make her better.  If we have to abduct all the scientists at The Human Genome project and drain Oroku Industries dry.”  Her voice was like a soothing balm on a rough wound, his annoyance drained from shoulders, to be replaced by that distant gratitude that took him when they spoke closely in such a manner.  “I promise.”


	29. Chapter 29

“Dude, he’s in Disneyland!”  Michaelangelo held up the tabloid that April had brought down to the sewers to show them.  “What’s it say?” he asked.

“I don’t read Japanese, Mikey,” April said.

They all turned to Leo.

“I don’t read Kanji either,” the blue banded turtle said.  “Man, he does _not_ look like he’s at the happiest place on Earth.”

“He looks like he’s about to kill someone,” Donnie remarked.

“That kid he’s looking at?” Raph suggested.

“I found it!” Casey laughed, turning the laptop toward them. 

Raph leaned in close, pushing Donnie out of the way.  “He’s on Youtube?”

“He’s in a gossip show,” Donnie’s voice held a great deal of wonder.

“I mean, her husband has been for less than two months,” said white subtitles over a male Japanese voice screened over a clip of Ororku Saki helping a small boy up on a ride.  “I think that’s a little early to be making a move.”

“He’s not making a move on anybody,” read the subtitles that belonged to a female.  “They’ve been friends for years, he’s obviously trying to make her feel better.”

“I’m sure he is,” the male replied.  The clip stopped at point where Oroku Saki was bending down in an obvious attempt to hear what a smiling, non-descript woman was saying to him.  Oroku, himself, was not smiling, but scowling rather deeply, his scarred face amplifying the effect.

“It could be a business trip,” a third male voice was subtitled.  “Together, they own almost the whole of his company.”

“It obviously isn’t,” said the first male voice.  “Oroku Saki the business mogul never goes out to places to have fun. He’s been residing in New York City for past three years, and Veronika Heathcock has apparently also moved there.”

“Which is how her husband was killed, I might add,” said the female voice.  “Not a date.”

“Lots of people have died under mysterious circumstances where Oroku is concerned.”

“Look, she isn’t even that pretty.  She’s plain.”

“He’s lucky he has plain,” said the female voice.  “He looks like he kissed a sander and go the raw end of the deal.”

“I thought it wasn’t a date,” said the male voice.

“Maybe he has a winning personality,” said the female.

A bout of laughter ensued.

“It’s a family outing,” said the third male voice.

“Everything is about sex for you two,” the female interjected.  “If it is a family vacation, then where is his daughter?”

“Studying with some tutor in New York City, no doubt,” the first male voice said.

The clip ended.

“Who’s Veronika Heathcock?” asked Leo.

Donnie was already tapping on his own laptop, “She’s the second largest shareholder of Shredder’s legal company,” he said. 

“You think he’s recruited her for the Foot Clan?” April asked.

Donnie shook his head.  “She’s an orchestra musician.”  His voices sounded incredulous.

“She has two kids.”  Mikey held up the tabloid again.  “Doesn’t Shredder look so cute?”  The photo he displayed showed Oroku Saki looking down at a little girl wearing Mickey Mouse ears who was pulling on his trouser leg while holding the hand of Veronika Heathcock in the other.

“He looks like he’s about to eat her whole,” April grimaced.  “I don’t see who those two kids aren’t in tears.”

“No criminal record,” Donnie said.  “Maybe he really was just taking a friend and her kids to Disneyland.”

“Shredder doesn’t have any friends,” Raph said.

“Apparently he does,” April motioned to the magazine.

“He’s in line for It’s A Small World!”  Mikey giggled like a fan girl.  “I’m cutting this out and putting in my room!”

####

“Sensei Bradford!”  Ashton ran across the concrete to the dog mutant, his small body filled with excitement, the rest of denizens from Oroku Saki’s private plane lagging behind him. 

Bradford put a bony hand out.   “You are supposed to bow to your sensei,” he said.

Ashton stopped in his tracks, his blonde hair drifting in the wind of the parking lot of Shredder’s Lair, and bowed solemnly.

The dog mutant then broke out into a smile, bent down and scooped the little boy up, throwing him in the air and catching him as he came down.  “Have you been practicing?”

“I did, I practiced the entire time I was with Baba-sama,” he said, nodding.  “Didn’t I?” he twisted as Bradford put him down, looking to Aya for confirmation.  When she nodded, he turned back to his teacher, Aya trailing behind him with Greta on her hip.

“All is in order, Master Shredder,” Tiger Claw bowed to ninja master as they exited the limousine. 

“Excellent,” he replied, his long stride taking him toward the building.  “Vioso has not tried to cause trouble while I was gone?”

“No,” the tiger mutant replied.  “He has been surprisingly meek.”

“He’ll try to do something,” Mistress Veronika put in.  “He’s biding his time.  His history doesn’t seem the type that he would cave so easy.”  She looked to Master Shredder.  “The story you told me, he gave up with almost no fight.”

“Yes,” Shredder replied, his voice thoughtful. 

“He could be gathering forces?” Nikka suggested.

Tiger Claw shook his head, “We’ve been watching him,” he said.  “He has made no moves at all.”

Shredder grunted.

“I would like to take a look at the books, Saki,” Nikka said quietly as she strolled on one side of him, Tiger Claw on the other. 

“Why?” he asked.

“To make sure they’re being done properly,” she said indignantly.

“That is why I pay my executives,” he growled.

“But what if he isn’t doing it right?” she asked.  “What if he’s stealing from you?”

He stopped walking and regarded her, annoyed.  “Of course, he’s stealing from me.”

Her jaw dropped open, her pink lips drawing in slightly as she did.  Her eyes went to Tiger Claw, as if looking for him to disagree.  When he didn’t, she asked, “What do you mean?” 

“He’s keeping my books, of course he is stealing from me,” Saki repeated, walking toward the Lair again. 

“How can you let him steal from you?”  Nikka’s voice was uncomfortably high.  “When you know he’s stealing?”

“Good work is well rewarded,” Saki replied.

“By stealing?” Nikka almost screeched.

“It’s the maggot’s cut,” Tiger Claw told her.  “As long as he is not too indulgent in the accounts, it is admissible.”

Nikka opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.  “I don’t think I like that,” she finally said.

“I didn’t ask you if you liked it,” Saki replied, the patience in his voice gone.

She shot him a nasty look, her big, bright blue eyes squinting maliciously.  “If you did, you’d have all of your money,” she shot at him, “and the maggots who take their cut would be fed to the piranha in your throne room!”

“There are more important things for you to be doing than combing through accounting books,” Saki snarled, turning to look at her.

Tiger Claw gingerly stepped away from the two of them, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible.  He noticed that Bradford was already in the Lair, along with the children and others.  None of them wanted to be caught in the crossfire of a fight.

“Like what?” she demanded.  “Watch the moss grow on those crustaceans that you had that awful fly create?”

“Like getting in the proper mindset to do your job.”  His mouth was set in a snarl as he bent down, his face coming close to hers.  “I have an executive to deal with my money.  I have lackeys to deal with my work affairs.  I have a shitsuji to deal with my personal affairs.  I have a geijutsuka to deal with my _people._ And to help me deal with my enemies.”  She may as well learn now what her job as to be, and what it wasn’t.

“What people?” she insisted.  “I’ve met all the people here!”

“My other people,” he growled.

“Dealing with your other people, how?” she asked, her voice softening.

“You can start,” he began walking again, “by meeting them.”

“Who?  What people?” she asked, quickening her step to catch up with him.  “When? Tonight?”

Tiger Claw mused she sounded like an excited child.  Either their time at the Asakami Estate had been rather mundane or she was desperate for something to do other than writing psychological profiles and making music, whatever it might be.  Tiger Claw would not have been so happy to go about ‘meeting’ the people he knew The Shredder was speaking of.  He did not like it when he was forced to deal with any of them.  Most of them were crime bosses that had been displaced by The Shredder himself, and none of them were too happy with the arrangement.  However, all of them wanted to keep their heads attached to their bodies, so they acted happy. 

Saki looked down at her disapprovingly.  “You can’t meet anyone like that.”  She opened her mouth to say something, “and there are other things I want dealt with first.”

####

Bradford had quickened his step when he heard Shredder and Veronika begin to raise their voices.  Aya was by his side in a heartbeat, keeping step with him.  He was sad to lose her as a student, she’d been a good one.  She would be a good ninja, and was he wasn’t entirely sure why Shredder had decided she become the nanny.  _Maybe because she was at the house with the kids at the time,_ he mused.  Still, it was a shame.

“Were they liked that the whole time in Japan?” he muttered.

 Aya laughed mirthlessly.  “Oh, Japan was something else again, let me tell you.   But no, they were all lovey dovey, walking the grounds and talking to each other.”  She shrugged.  “Well, not as lovey dovey as they’ll be now that they’re here, I’d guess.  They slept in different rooms.  Have you met her mother?”

It was Bradford’s turn to laugh.  “Oh yeah,” he said.  “And she was bad back then.”

“Baba-sama isn’t bad,” Ashton said defensively.

“Good,” Bradford replied.  “She’s not supposed to be.  Grandmothers are supposed to be nice.  Did you practiced every day?” he asked.

Ashton nodded again, “With Aya,” he said.  “And their ninja master.  Aya practiced, too!”

“With their ninja master?” he turned to his former student. 

Aya gave an uncharacteristic beaming smile.  “Yes,” she replied.  “And with Master Shredder.”

“That’s quite an honor,” Bradford said, raising a bony eye ridge.

Aya kept her smile on her face.  She knew full well it was an honor, an honor she never thought she’d have, especially after being assigned to Mistress Veronika’s children.  

She’d spent most of the time on her behind, and downright ached when she was finished.  Her body was battered and bruised, but she hadn’t minded in the least.  Master Shredder was just that, a ninja master.  And no ordinary master, but one of the highest caliber.  There was a reason he was leader of an entire clan.

He’s thrown her about the dojo, in what she felt, at first, was a merciless fashion.  But then, he’d eased up, and began instructing her.  If not for her training, she’d have stood there with her mouth hanging open.  She was being _taught_ by Master Shredder.  Only his most accomplished ninjas were taught by him, and they were few and far between. 

He came to stand behind her, knocking her legs with his knees.  “You’re not soft enough,” he told her.  He then proceeded to show her knocking her down with a less than gentle swipe.

Slapping her hands at her strikes, he said, “You are not letting your energy out at the end, you’re driving in the middle.”  He’d taken her arm, directed it the way he wanted her to perform the punch.  Afterward, when she had gotten right, he praised her.  “Well done, Aya.”

To be given pointers, even if they were thrown at her in a rather disgusted manner, was a privilege she knew she might not get again in her lifetime.

Then, they’d done it again.  He’d beaten the tar out of her each time they practiced together, after the fourth time, she’d thought her body was going to fall apart the next morning.  One of the girls at the Estate had rubbed her with an ointment that bore a name, a date of almost 20 years before, and Asakami’s seal of a hummingbird. 

“The name of the ointment is Bironika?” Aya had asked, reading the label and wincing as the girl gently rubbed.

“No,” the girl laughed.  “Bironika is who made it,” she said as if Aya should know who Bironika was.  It is part of our training, to learn how to make healing ointments.”

“Who is Bironika?” Aya asked.

The girl stopped, “Mistress Bironika,” she replied.  “You take care of her children.”

Aya raised her eyebrows.  “Oh.”

“You can always tell when Bironika-san made it,” the girl continued, “because she made it smell like honeysuckle.  It takes a lot of honeysuckle flowers to get that smell.  And the only place to get them around here, is in the forest.”

“I didn’t get to fight with Master Shredder,” Ashton complained, bringing Aya back from her reminiscing. 

“You’ve got a long way to go, boy,” Bradford chuckled, “before you get to do that.”

 


	30. Chapter 30

If Baxter Stockman had pupils, he was sure they’d be the size of his iris, and that he would be glancing to and from Karai’s enclosure.  He wasn’t sure whether to leave her in the terrarium or not, and opted for leaving her.  She had everything she needed, after all, and it was harder to hear her throw insults at him when she was in her human form.

He had hardly slept since Shredder had left for Japan.   The threat of his limbs, or his life, being severed if progress had not been made on his daughter by his return were taken very seriously.  He hoped that awful woman wouldn’t come back with him, but not only did she do so, she brought her two brats back with her as well.

Master Shredder, still in his business suit, strode into his lab, Tiger Claw at his heels.  “Well?” he demanded. 

If Baxter Stockman could have, he would have winced.  But as it was, his exoskeletal structure he’d picked up from the fly mutation did not allow him to do so.  Shredder’s threat was still fresh in his mind, despite the time that had passed since it was given.  He had been the receiving end of the man’s vengeance more than once, and had no desire to test the boundaries where his daughter was concerned.  However, he was relieved that Mistress Veronika was not with him.  She only seemed to put ideas in his head that weren’t there before.  None of them seemed to bode well for the mutant fly.  “I’ve managed to create a formula that causes her to change back and forth, from her human zzzelf to her mutant zzzelf,” Stockman explained. 

“Then why is she still like that?” Shredder gestured to the clear cage.

“Her mind izzz still unstable,” the fly replied, his voice filled with supplication.  While he had managed to create a formula that changed Karai from serpent to human, he was surprised when it hadn’t fully worked.  She transformed from one thing to another, with a third form in between, and he hadn’t been able to figure out what caused a change.  Only that when in fully serpent form, the mind of a human being was barely present.  “When she fades, she turns into—“  He stopped abruptly, turning the glass.

The serpent mutant behind the glass slowly began to morph.  The pearlescent scales began to smooth out a little, the muzzle on the snake sink inward.   The eyes moved closer together, hair sprouting from the purple scales of the head.  The snake heads on the mutant’s hands began to ebb and separate, five fingers coming into view and rapidly growing into a human hand.  The transformation stopped, though, before it was fully complete.  It left Karai, a mirage of her, in place of the actual girl.  Her skin was still pale and scaly, the pearlescence from her fully mutated form still slightly there.  Her mouth was too wide, lips jutting forward to show two fangs hanging down.  The green eyes, with black silted pupils, were still there, wide and darting back and forth, as if trying to gain her surroundings.

Shredder put his hand to the clear partition.  Stockman saw his horrible, disfigured face soften, brow ridges drawing together, his scowl turning into a different frown entirely.  “My daughter,” he crooned.

The half-Karai hissed, lunging at the man on the other side of the partition.  “You are not my father!” she said, her voice ground out, gravelly like over stones.  Then, in a heartbeat, she was fully human again.  She banged both fists on the plastic.  “You. Are. Not. My. Father!!!” she yelled at the top of her lungs.  “Let me out of here!”

The scowl returned to Master Shredder’s face.  He took a step back, letting his hand drop to the floor.  No sooner had he done so, then the human girl was a serpent once more, her long head arched upward in a baneful cry.

“Mazzter Shredder.”  Stockman crept toward, his antennae swiveling.  “I think I may have found something that will help with the transformation.” 

The Shredder turned him to, and again, if he could have, he would have winced.   Ever since that infernal woman arrived, the fly mutant had not been able to please the leader of the Foot Clan at all.  Everything he did, _she_ seemed to have something better.  She found holes in his computer security.  She berated him as a scientist that he’d not taken the time to accurately record accounts of the people around into profiles.  He wasn’t a psychologist.  But Shredder had agreed with her.  She had looked at him utterly disgusted at what she saw, yet it was whispered throughout the entire building where she often emerged from in the morning.  And then, with only a few words, she made him want to do whatever she said.  Once the words left his head, hours later, he was disgusted with himself, that he would have licked the dirt from shoes, or flown her to the highest building in the city if she only asked.  Well, he had a match for that.

“What do you mean?” Shredder asked slowly.

“I have made a formulation,” the fly said, “that can control people’s minds.”

After a pause, The Shredder said, “Go on.”

“It will make them do whatever _you_ say,” he continued.  “I only need a way to administer it.  It has to go directly to the brain, and some of my test subjects have not survived the injection.”

“And how, exactly, have you decided to do that?” he leaned forward, his almond eyes squinting threateningly.

“I have some Kraang wormzz, from when they were on Earth,” Stockman replied.  He twitched twice, his head lobbing to the side as his many appendages shook.  “Zzzz.  I need only one more chemical to be able to uzzzze them as a carrier.”

“What chemical?” The Shredder demanded.  “We can manufacture it.”

Stockman shook his head, his shoulders slumping in fear.  This was the part he was afraid of, the part here he was unsure as to whether the feeler-hairs on his arms and legs were going to be sheared off or not.   “It izzz very rare,” he said.  “We cannot make it in the factory.”

There was a moment of silence, where all that could be heard in the lab was the sounds of the instruments lowly humming or clicking, depending on what it’s use was.  Then, Shredder turned to Tiger Claw.  “Make sure he has what he needs.”

Stockman would have sighed if he could.

Tiger Claw simply bowed, and said, “Yes, Master Shredder.”

 

####

Miko felt her ire rising once more.  She placed the tea set on the table as she’d been advised.  Even her grandmother had not been as strict about how the set was displayed as Mistress Veronika was.  If she was to have tea with someone, the set-up had to be just right.  Miko clicked her tongue. _It’s not like she’s having a tea ceremony,_ she groused.  She was simply having tea.

She’d been miffed to begin with, that she hadn’t been taken to Japan.  While her parents had come from Japan, she’d never been to any of the islands.  She was excited to go and when she’d been informed, “My mother has plenty of people to take care of me,” by Mistress Veronika, she’d been hard pressed not to express her anger.  Mistress Veronika was not even Japanese!  And she was going to her Japanese mother to be taken care of.

“How was it?” Miko asked Aya, when the latter had brought some of Veronika’s items that had been packed with the children’s back to her suite.

Aya laughed.  “It was like a fairy tale your grandmother would have told you.”

Miko felt her lip begin to poke out in a pout. 

“The place was ancient.  More than half of the buildings had no running water.  It was in the middle of nowhere.  There was no cell phone reception, and only one satellite phone.”

“That doesn’t sound like a fairy tale,” Miko said, her jealousy abating slightly.

“But the place was _beautiful,_ ” Aya went on.  “The buildings were like nothing I’ve ever seen.  And the power in the place…you could tell that great things had happened there.  That great people had been there.”  Her eyes went wide.  “And Lady Asakami!  She is like a goddess sent down to earth.”

“She’s isn’t that pretty?” Miko asked.

Aya had looked at her like she was crazy.  “No,” Aya replied.  “She is that powerful.  You can feel it coming off of her.  It is like Master Shredder or Mistress Veronika, but it is old.  Much older than what they feel like.”

Miko had no idea what Aya was talking about.  And that annoyed her.

The only good thing that had come of this was that Miko had gotten to be a ninja again while Master Shredder and Mistress Veronika were gone.  But even that was tainted with Veronika’s words at their first meeting, “Sex is for amateurs.”  It had worked for her before.  That it hadn’t worked with Sensei Bradford had been a misstep on her part.  It wasn’t like she was actually attracted to the awful, skeletal dog.  But sex had gotten her many things in her life.  She’d been genuinely surprised when it had gotten her the job of a handmaiden.

“This is a great honor,” Sensei Bradford had told her when she’d been assigned to Mistress Veronika when she’d first arrived.

 _Great honor, my butt,_ Miko scowled.  _Who wants to be demoted to a maid?_

But training in the dojo again had been pleasant.  She’d forgotten how much she missed the fighting, the pressure of an attack on her arms and legs, the stretching of her limbs as she escaped, the adrenaline of the fight.  Now, she was demoted, once again, to a servant.

She didn’t like it.

And now, she was being sent to invite Master Shredder to Mistress Veronika’s rooms for tea.  Like the man wanted tea.  She couldn’t imagine someone like Master Shredder even drinking tea, much less enjoying it. 

Shredder showed no indication that he wanted or did not want to have tea with his geijutsuka.  However, he told Miko, “Very well.  Tell her I will be there when I am finished.”  It gave her a modicum of satisfaction that Veronika would have to wait.

The satisfaction vanished when her mistress dismissed her for the night before The Shredder even arrived.

###

Nikka poured the tea into the porcelain cup and handed it to Saki.  “I would like to see her,” she said.

Shredder did not answer her.  Before leaving Stockman’s lab, he informed the fly that Mistress Veronika was not to be allowed anywhere near Karai.

“How am I to keep her away?” Stockman asked in that panicked way he had.  “She comezz every day to zzzzee her!”

Often times, she came when he was there, promising his daughter his revenge upon those who had reduced her to this form.  Nikka was comfort sometimes, and an annoyance at others.  In the plane, on their way home, she had tried to ease his emotional pain, and the tendrils of gratitude still embraced him.

However, she could not see Karai.  Or more accurately, she could not _hear_ what Karai had to say.

_“You are not my father!”_

Even now, the words rang in his ears, spearing his heart in a way that the girl had never done before Hamato Yoshi and the turtles had filled her head with their lies.

Nikka had never asked about Karai’s parentage.  He did not know if she knew already, but if she did, she did not say.  And he was in no mood to try to explain it to her should she hear his daughter yell out those words.  It was so complicated, the story so convoluted.  It would take him days just to tell it.  He had not anticipated how much his heart would break, being a father.

“No,” he told Nikka.

“But you said she could turn human again,” Nikka argued. 

“The transformation isn’t stable,” he explained, staring into the tea cup.  “And the half transformation is…disturbing.”  Indeed, seeing his beautiful girl in the state of a woman, but not a woman was worse than the serpent itself.

“I have witnessed disturbing things before,” Nikka continued.

He shook his head.  “No,” his voice was filled with sorrow.  “Not like this.”

“Oh, Saki,” she whispered.  “I cannot imagine…”  Reaching over, she put her hand on his forearm.  “It will get better,” she assured him.  From where she was getting such assurance, he did not know.  He certainly didn’t have it.  But she sounded as if she knew, that she had some sort of knowledge he did not.  “We will make her better.”

He grunted and took a drink of his tea.

“And we will make them pay.”

He looked up at her, her face grim. 

“I have something for you,” she smiled mischievously.

He made no movement as he looked at her, “I am not in the mood.”

She clicked her tongue.  “It isn’t for you, really,” she said.  “I have something there _because_ of you.”  She got up, ignoring the undertone of his refusal, and picked up a cardboard moving box and put it on the table.

“A box?” he asked incredulously.

“Not just any box,” she crooned.  She reached inside and brought out another box.

Saki raised his eyebrows.

She giggled, “Oh, so you know what it is?”  She swept the cardboard box to the floor, and set down the intricately carved teak box in its place.  It depicted a dragon, wending its way across the wooden outface, cresting on clouds that rained down carved teardrops toward the bottom of the box.

“It is a sewing box,” Saki replied.  “I though you didn’t not like to sew.”

“I hate to sew,” she said quickly, opening the top.   “But needlework is highly effective.”

He felt the movement of energy as the lid revealed the top shelf of the box.  Inside of it was a row of colored, silk threats, and a cloth booklet that held needles.   But it was no simple sewing box, he could feel it. 

Nikka looked at him proudly.  “You remember those fairy tales we used to tell each other?” she asked, her voice soft.

“You have done this…?” he waved his hand in the direction of the box.

“I have,” she giggled.  “Why do you doubt me?”  She opened the top shelf, and pulled out a folded cloth, opening it up.  It depicted a half done needlepoint of a cherry tree, the bottom hem showing “Greta.”  She handed it to him, her eyes soft as she looked at it.  “I never finished it,” she sighed.  “I suppose I should.”

He took it from her, feeling the ki emanating from it in a pulse, trying to push him back.  “A ward,” he noted.

She nodded.  “Ashton’s is still back at the house,” she frowned, taking it back from him.  “Weaving or spinning is more powerful,” she explained.  “But needlework is more practical.”

He regarded her, from her head to her feet, as if looking for something to be different about her.  Nothing was.  She was the same Nikka that was always there, a playful smile on her lips and a mischievous twinkle in her big, blue eyes.  Only, this Nikka wielded magic, and that changed things.

“What?” she asked with a laugh.  “You look surprised.”

Had he?  “I was thinking.”

She stroked his arm.  “Thinking what?” she asked.

“About the possibilities,” he admitted.

She laughed again, shaking her head.  Bending down, so her face was close to his, she said, “There is the possibility that I can welcome you home properly.”

“Home?” he asked, the heat of her hand on his arm sending tingles through to his fingertips.

“Isn’t this our home?” she asked, her eyes hooded.

“Yes,” he replied, just before her lips touched his.


	31. Chapter 31

During his morning practice, The Shredder saw Mistress Veronika was correct about yet another question she’d posed to him when she’d first arrived--Bradford was getting better.  He had reduced himself to a slobbering fool, literally, by dousing himself in mutagen.  As a human conglomerate of Hachiko and his human self, he was so utterly useless, he might as well have been on all fours and walking around like the dog he’d been mutated into.  Having been mutated again, he’d regained some control over his body, and he was, Nikka had pointed out, getting better.

He paid particular attention to his student this morning, how he moved his body, what he said, how he said it.  Usually, when he sparred with Bradford, it was to bring out the man’s worst, to lay into him that mercy was for the weak.  He had already taught him some of his darkest secrets, he had been his disciple for decades.  That he would have to teach them to him all over again was unthinkable.  But, perhaps, Bradford would need some more coaching in this new form, and not just practice.

He moved in ways that were different from a human being, his body bent in different places.  His movements were not as fluid as they once were, but they were quick.  Shredder noted on several occasions, he brute force that he now possessed was impressive.  He would have to concentrate on teaching Bradford how to use that force, now that he possessed it.

Chris Bradford had proved an adequate business man.  He would not have been as successful with his dojo chain had it not been for Oroku Saki’s guidance, or his money.  He was impressed that he still managed to run them from afar, keeping his ghastly appearance a secret from the various managers and the accountant that kept the books for the franchise.  But then, Saki had set up the accountant.  After all, he needed as many fronts for his underground money as could gather.  Better to keep one’s eggs in many baskets.

Shredder let the clutching at his heart pass through him, leaving the emotion with an empty fist as it slid off of him.  He didn’t have time to train Bradford all over again, from the beginning!  He threw a punch at the dog mutant, Bradford dodged.  The mutant’s energy felt different from when it had when Brandford had been human.  All of the mutants’ did. There was something...alien...about it. He wondered if Bradford could feel it, he’d have to ask. 

His ki didn’t feel alien enough that he couldn’t read it, however.  He blocked a kick, then countered with an uppercut, hitting the dog in the chin.  He went flying across the dojo.

Shredder stood up, “Disgraceful,” he growled.  He turned, without another word, and walked away.  He heard Bradford sigh before the mutant got up, and he felt some regret at his harshness.  It lasted only a moment, before the man groaned, erasing any sympathy that Shredder might have been harboring in his heart.

He walked to Stockman’s lab for his visit with Karai.  He’d gotten in a fight with Nikka over not allowing her to see his daughter, one in which his anger had almost gotten the best of him.  But he would not have what little peace he had shattered with complicated explanations, of trying to explain why Karai, if she turned human, or even half human, would rail at him about not being his daughter.

His breath hitched in his throat.  His daughter.  His dear, precious child.  He came to the clear cage that now held her, and the serpent inside immediately rammed at the partition.  He did not flinch, he would not, would never recoil from her.  She was his, as surely as the moon hung in the sky.  He had taken her, raised her, loved her with his entire being.  He had never dreamt that a human being could love something so much that it physically hurt them.  He thought that was a romantic euphemism for romance novels and fairy tales.  That was before he had become a father.

He heard Tiger Claw lower himself toward him using his jetpack.  He turned, the suitcase in his second-in-command’s hand not the same one that he was sent out with.  “You found the chemical, then?” he asked.

“When have I ever failed you, Master Shredder?” Tiger Claw asked, holding the case flat and opening it.

Shredder reserved comment, choosing not to voice his thoughts.  _Often enough,_ he held, _that Hamato Yoshi and his turtles are still alive._   He regarded the padded innards of the case, which held a single, large vial of red fluid.

Stockman buzzed down to join them.  Shredder shifted his body slightly, the oily feeling coming from the fly’s ki made his gut clench slightly if he wasn’t careful.  He didn’t like getting to close to the thing, the repulsion at his disgusting visage not having lessened with time. 

“All izzz ready, my Mazzter,” he said, looking at the vial covetously.  “Thiz iz the lazt ingredient I needed to finish the formula that will give _you_ complete control over her.”  The fly mutant motioned with his monstrous head toward Karai’s enclosure.

It had not escaped The Shredder that this mind control serum had not come up before Mistress Veronika had arrived, her own brand of mind control, and her skill with psychology and computers, threatening to undermine the fly’s space in The Foot.  Shredder had no intention of replacing Stockman with Nikka, she had other talents, more than he had ever thought, that he wanted to utilize.

“Before you use it on Karai,” he told Stockman, “test it on the two mutants.”

“Brilliant zir!” Stockman exclaimed.  Shredder fought the disgust the rose in his stomach at the brown nosing.  “In caze there are any uneczpected side effectz.”

*****

Mistress Veronika entered the Italian restaurant for lunch, her body hugged in a pencil skirt and button dress shirt.  Her hair draped over her shoulders, the front held out of her face with two tortoise shell hair sticks.  The jeweled pendant of the Foot Clan hung at her throat

“Table for one?” asked the hostess in a Brooklyn accent.

She kept herself from wincing, a winning smile on her face.  “Yes, please.” 

The hostess led her to a small table toward the back of the restaurant, sat her down with a menu, and walked off.

Nikka looked about her, noting that this wasn’t a bad front, from the little she’d learned about front business, anyway.  Saki was doing a fine job keeping her from the books--he must have already told his people to keep her at bay.  She felt she was being blocked at every turn.  Karai had been moved from her glass terrarium to the ‘hospital wing’, which she knew was simply a section of Stockman’s lab-proper.  She was not allowed in it any longer, and Saki had posted Footbots at the entrance, barring her way.  Being machines, they were completely immune to any suggestion she might give them, and her commands fell on robotic ears that did not heed her.  Her temper tantrum to Saki had ended with them in each other’s faces, she’d seen his hands turn into fists, tight at his sides.  “You do not need to see her how she is!” he thundered.

“How is she?” she shouted back.

He’d grabbed her shoulders, his fingers pressing down on her flesh so that, for a moment, she thought he was going to hurt her.  But he did not.  He took a deep breath, his shoulders and his grip visibly relaxing.  “She is not herself, Nikka,” he said gently, his deep voice rumbling in the air between them.  “I do not want you to see her like this.”

So, she’d attempted to keep herself busy in other ways.  He had brought in two mutants, whom he was keeping in the terrarium, and she went to see them.  She wasn’t to go up to the cages directly, Saki had made it very clear, and she was not willing for another fight.  Her upper arms ached slightly where he’d grabbed her and light brown bruises graced her skin.  If she was to bruised, that was not the way she wanted it to happen.  The two mutants, part of a group known as The Mutanimals, which she’d already gleaned information on, were nothing impressive.  Merely a giant turtle and chimpanzee.  Both looked liked they belong in a zoo, and would have been right at home in their enclosures if they’d been mindless, like the other mutants housed there.  Each had a set-up that was a perfected environment for their species.  The turtle had a desert set up for him, complete with a giant log for him to hide in.  The chimpanzee, a jungle.  He even had trees to swing from.  Despite Stockman’s errancy in other areas, he’d been very precise in the terrarium. 

She had played with her children, unpacked some more of her things, gone shopping, and done some snooping.

She’d managed to uncover two of his own front businesses, by suggesting that one of the accountant’s assistants tell her.  But, without some major snooping, she was unable to find anything else.  She was irked at herself that she’d helped to close up all the holes in his computer systems before she’d done any research on his underground activities.  The system was not watertight, so she couldn’t get in it herself any longer, again, without some major snooping.  She wasn’t quite ready to do major snooping yet. However, some minor snooping revealed that the owner of the establishment was having lunch in a back room at this very moment, just as he always did.  She had to admit, she’d been surprised at how routine underground bosses were.

This place was just an average New York middle-class Italian eatery.  Nothing fancy, nothing to bring it to the attention of the authorities.  Just like a mob front should be.

A waiter, dressed in a white top and black slacks, sidled up to her table, order pad at the ready.  “Can I take your order?”

“Yes,” she said smoothing her skirt.  “I would like something with a lot of parmesan.”

The waiter raised an eyebrow.  “Uh, you want veal parmesan?  Or chicken parmesan?”

“I like my parmesan shredded,” she said with a smile.  “Not powdered.”

“Lady, all of our parmesan is--” 

The waiter was interrupted by an overweight older man, his temples graying and damp with sweat.  “I got this one, Sal,” he said to the waiter.

“I got her, Vin,” the waiter replied.  “She just wants--”

“Go tell the back that they have someone who wants shredded cheese,” Vin whispered harshly.  He then turned to Nikka, his eyes gliding down the necklace at her throat, then back to her eyes.  “It will be just a moment for the cheese to be ready,” he said.  “You want some wine while you wait?  On the house, of course.”

The wine was passable, a red that was a bit too vinegary for her taste.  She waited almost fifteen minutes, and was about to say something, when Vin approached, holding out his hand in a gallant fashion to help her out of the seat.  “Please, Mr. Vizioso would like you to luncheon with him.”  She kept herself from giggling at his strong Brooklyn accent attempting to sound chivalrous.

Upon entering the back room, she gave a bow, “Buongiorno, Signor Vizioso.”

“Please,” he gestured to the seat across from him, “Signor Vizioso was my father.  I am simply, Mister.”

She sank down into the chair, a plain thing that one might find at any restaurant or office conference room.  The man sitting across from her was just as disgusting as Saki had described to her when she’d first arrived.  His business suit had to be custom made, there was no way, she was sure, that he could find one to fit his enormous frame from a store.  Despite Vin being overweight, he was nothing as obese as this fellow, but they had the same features.  _Family_ , she guessed.  But then, Italian mobs were often family businesses, she’d found in her research. 

“Hello, Mr. Vizioso,” she said again.  “Thank you for inviting me to lunch.” 

A plate of veal parmesan appeared in front of her, along with the pouring of another red wine.  She saw that Vizioso was eating a slice of lasagna, none too politely, either.  He had a napkin stuffed into his neckline, and another on his lap.  Both were covered with marinara sauce.

“It was my pleasure, Miss…”  He waved his hand, to indicate she should give him her name.

“Miss will do,” she said, picking up her fork and knife.  She began to cut the veal, “How are things, Mr. Vizioso?”

“Things are just fine,” he drawled, looking at her with a confused expression.  His eyes drifted down her to necklace, then to her neckline, and lingered there for a moment.  She brought her arm up to cover her cleavage, a piece of veal on the end of the fork, and he snapped his brown eyes back up.  “I take it The Shredder wants something?”

Nikka shook her head.  “No,” she assured him.  “I am a business associate of his.  Actually, I am _the_ business associate of his, and was simply checking in on his, and my, holdings.”  A set of identical twins flanked Vizioso, the Fulci’s she knew, and one of them snickered.  She shot a glare at him, and he cleared his throat.

“I haven’t heard of you,” Vizioso’s tone turned from pleasant to dangerous.

That, she knew, was an out and out lie.  But, playing a game was part of the fun.  “Because I haven’t been in New York City long,” she explained, popping the veal into her mouth.  She chewed, her eyes glued to his.  She was surprised that he waited for her to finish, she was fully expecting to have to speak with her mouth full.  “I have, however, been looking into The Shredder’s...assets.  I’ve spent time with Hun already.  And Steranko and Xever Montes.”

Vizioso snorted, raising his fork to his mouth.

“But then, they’re always around,” she said gently.  “So I decided to luncheon with the one who isn’t.”

He stopped, his bit of lasagna in mid-air, eyeing her cautiously. 

“Mr. Vizioso,” she leaned forward, a malefic smile on her face, “you and I have a great deal to talk about.”

 


End file.
